Harry Pevensie, Prince of Narnia
by Wingdance
Summary: Harry was taken in as a baby by Susan Pevensie, Queen of Narnia. Now, at eleven years old, it is time for him to begin attending Hogwarts. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

Harry missed the Wayside House, if not for his adoptive mother, than at least for the much simpler morning routine. In his home, he slowly rose to a semi-awake state when the first rays of dawn fell through his window and onto his face. He would blearily wash up in the bathroom and stumble downstairs to his mother's laboratory, where she was already awake and working. Harry would watch her brew a variety of potions or prepare ingredients for storage, usually reaching full wakefulness just before breakfast was announced for family and guests.

Outside the house, the routine was generally just as slow, but in Europe's western islands, Harry had much to do before he woke. After showering and brushing his teeth, makeup was carefully applied over the curse scar on his forehead before being spelled to not smudge or wear off for the next twenty-four hours. Then Harry touched up the roots of his hair with brown dye while his hair was still wet, rinsed it out again, and put on blue colored contacts instead of clear ones or glasses.

It was necessary for the United Kingdom, and the main reason that Harry hated spending any length of time in that country. Apparently, his scar made him famous for a spell that his birth mother had cast to protect him from a killing curse sent by a dark lord. Even with that covered, Harry had been told that his green eyes were terribly rare among magical humans, who usually had eyes of nearly every color imaginable except green, and were shaped and colored exactly like the eyes of his birth mother, who had been rather popular and well-known. It was a hassle, to say the least.

Still, his mother told him that he had to recieve magical training at Hogwarts, one of the three premier instutions of magical learning in Europe. Destiny was at work, she'd said, and while Harry was doubtful as to what destiny meant for him, he knew _exactly_ what his mother's stubborn expression meant.

Nevermind that Harry's French was excellent and he could get by in Japanese. He'd begged his aunt and uncles several times to secretly enroll him to Beauxbatons or Mahoudo Gakuen, where he could be just another normal student, but they gave him very little sympathy. His aunt in particular - she had given him a disappointed look and started, "When I was your age-"

"That's okay," Harry had interrupted quickly, not wanting to get into a long story of her childhood that he'd already heard at least a hundred times. "I take it back."

Once he was done with his work, Harry finally left the tiny bathroom and entered the bedroom that his uncle had rented them at a small inn. "Good morning, Ed!" he called out.

His Uncle Edmund was a tall man with a pale tint to his skin and a lithe form. Although his arms and torso were skinny, not an inch of it was fat - Edmund exercised regularly and sparred with his siblings to obtain his strong and firm muscles. His eyes were brown and thoughtful, and his dark brown hair laid much flatter on his head than Harry's was willing to do. Edmund had a somewhat regal look to him, something that all of his siblings had in differing ways and that Harry hoped he'd be able to emulate when he was older.

Edmund finished fastening the golden collar of his deep red cloak and looked over Harry's face. "It looks fine."

"I spent enough _time_ on it." Harry went to his trunk and began pulling on clothes that were full of wrinkles from the roughshod way that he had packed them. Although the cloth was just as good and stitched together just as well as his uncle's, Harry's carelessness kept them from looking as valuable.

"Just another few days," Edmund reminded him. "You'll be safe enough at Hogwarts without needing a disguise."

"I might do anyway," Harry grumbled. "I have to decide which I hate more - unwarranted attention or waking up an hour earlier in the morning."

"The headmaster isn't an idiot, Harry, or so I'm told. You may look a great deal more like Susan than you did when you came to us," thanks to Harry's desperate yearning for Susan to be his real mother and a spurt of accidental magic, "but the man may easily put together your first name and your birthday and put it together to make Harry Potter."

"I might be okay if he doesn't announce it. Can you get the wrinkles out?"

Edmund sighed with a smile as he looked at Harry's unkempt outfit. "Do it yourself."

"I can never get them all out, and I want to look decent for the Malfoys later."

"It really is your fault for packing so poorly."

"I _know_, I'm _sorry_, so _please_?"

Edmund waved his wand and murmured a charm, and the wrinkles immediately fell out of Harry's clothes as if frightened away. As Harry stepped forward to begin running out the door, Edmund said deeply, "_Harry_."

The boy tried to hide a guilty look, but he obviously knew what the scolding tone was about since he removed a wand from his pocket and handed it over to his uncle. "I forgot?" he said weakly. He yelped and ran out after Edmund swatted him on the bum.

"-hopin' he somehow made it here himself," a low, depressed voice was saying as Harry reached the ground floor of the inn. A enormous man, large enough that he might have been part giant, was talking to Tom the innkeeper. Harry waved to Tom, who nodded back at him before looking back to the despondent man. Harry debated listening to the conversation while ostensibly waiting for his uncle, but decided he didn't care enough and hurried on to the back courtyard. "If a great man like Dumbledore can't find him, then-"

The courtyard at the back of the building was surrounded by a brick wall that somehow managed to block out the nearby noise and bustle of the rest of London. It looked as if it was well-traveled but lacked actual attention - the middle of the small stretch of land was beaten dirt while grass and weeds grew rampant along the side walls. Harry bounced his balance from foot to foot as he waited for Edmund, and wished he'd managed to get out before his wand could be confiscated. "Stupid UK and their stupid underage magic laws," Harry muttered.

A hand flattened the hair on his head and Harry squirmed out from beneath the grip. Edmund chuckled and held out his wand, touching several of the bricks in the wall in front of him with it. As his wand touched the fourth one, the bricks shuddered and began moving aside to form an entryway into another place.

Diagon Alley was, to Harry, almost worth visiting England for. Most other countries kept their magic shops hidden, accessable only one at a time through using passwords or magic sigils in otherwise ordinary looking stores and alleyways. Diagon Alley was one of the few places in the world which held only shops catering to a magical community.

They stepped through the hole in the brick wall, which reformed itself after they passed. "Gringotts first," Edmund said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the crowds passing through the street. "I want to get your accounts sorted."

Harry had been informed only a few days ago that not only had his parents paid for his school fees at Hogwarts before they died, but they'd left him all their money as well. The key to his vault was in the care of Albus Dumbledore, although his possession of it was legally in shaky standing - James and Lily Potter's will had left Harry to his godfather, Sirius Black, who was currently serving a life sentence in prison.

Harry's mother had explained the circumstances of his guardianship to him years ago, and always answered any questions Harry had regarding it. Because Sirius Black had never actually been given a trial, Harry had been in a sort of custodial purgatory - prisoners in Britain's magical society could not be considered fit guardians for any child, but custodianship had not ever been passed through proper channels since it was usually done at the conclusion of a trial.

Lily Potter's sister and brother-in-law, who had somehow recieved possession of Harry through Dumbledore, were brought to the attention of the muggle authorities and declared unfit to be Harry's parents. A woman named Susan and her three siblings quietly applied for guardianship of Harry, and with the blessing of the muggle government, it was easy enough to have the proper paperwork filed in the magical government as well. Dumbledore had apparently looked into the matter, but Harry's mother did not trust him and never let the man catch wind of Harry's whereabouts.

All this meant that no one was willing to approach Dumbledore for the key to Harry's vault and bring the headmaster's attention to him any second earlier than they had to. Edmund thought that if they spoke to the goblins who ran Gringotts about it, they might be able to do something without the key.

They walked down the street quietly, as they would had needed to shout to be heard above the din in order to make any sort of conversation. Harry recognized Gringotts when he saw it - the bank had branches all across the world and although the style of the buildings varied, they were always made out of gleaming, white marble.

Two goblins stood on either side of the outside doors, wearing the same colors of gold and red that Harry and Edmund wore on their cloaks. Harry and his uncle greeted the two goblins and were not surprised to be ignored. They repeated the action with two goblins guarding the doors from the inside and recieved the same response. Much like the queen of England's guards, they were not allowed to speak while on duty.

Inside the bank, everything was just as busy as the alley itself. Goblins, wizards, and witches alike hurried about, usually raising their voices in an effort to hear each other over everyone else who raised their voices. Edmund and Harry went to the end of a line that led up to a counter full of harassed looking goblins and set themselves in for a bit of a wait. Despite the size of the line, it advanced quickly, and the two of them found themselves at the counter after roughly ten minutes.

"Key?" the goblin seeing to them said gruffly, holding out a veined and somewhat gnarled hand. Instead, Edmund pulled a ring off of his right hand's middle finger and deposited it on the counter.

The goblin looked at it wearily for only a second before his eyes widened and his nimble fingers snatched up the ring. He peered at it closely and tapped at it several times, muttered a word or two beneath his breath each time. It took ten tries before the goblin was satisified enough to hand back the ring and pull himself onto the counter. "Follow me," he ordered, then hopped down to the ground and hurried off.

The goblin weaved his way through the throng with practiced ease, and people always seemed to unconsciously part before Edmund no matter where he was. Harry had a slightly rougher time of it and had to keep apologising to those he ran into.

They were led through several doors and hallways, each more isolated than the rest, before the goblin abruptly left them in an office. It was simply decorated, with wood paneling on the floor and walls painted white. Behind a desk made of dark wood sat another goblin, old and more withered than his counterpart, who gestured to the chairs in front of the desk before folding his ancient hands together.

Once Edmund and Harry were seated, the goblin spoke. "I am Ragnok."

"I am Edmund Pevensie," said Edmund, bowing from his seat. "And this is my nephew, Harry Pevensie." Harry bowed quickly, his eyes coming back up to focus on the goblin. He'd never had this happen with his uncles' or aunt's banking transactions before, and he knew better than to interrupt and ask about it just then.

"'A king or queen of Narnia and ambassador of Aslan may always have a private audience with a goblin leader, although it may pass that nothing comes from the meeting,'" Ragnok intoned. "This is what we swore when Aslan brought us from his lands and we began calling ourselves 'goblins'. What business of yours requires a private meeting, King Edmund?"

Oh, Harry thought, Narnia stuff. It only ever came up when one of his relatives was dealing with one of the decidedly non-human magical creatures - talking animals, centaurs, mermaids, and apparently goblins all recognized his adoptive family as sovereigns of a place called Narnia.

Harry had asked about it, but they always told him that he would find out eventually, or that the time of the old Narnia was long gone. He'd heard them jokingly call each other by titles before as well - Peter the Magnificent, Susan the Gentle, Edmund the Just, Lucy the Valiant. He thought they all fit well. Except for maybe 'magnificent,' which made Peter sound a bit narcissistic.

"My nephew here doesn't have his vault key," Edmund explained. "It's in the hands of someone we'd rather not deal with just now, so we were hoping something could be done about it. His name would be on file as Harry Potter."

"You've adopted him?"

"Not me, Susan."

Ragnok nodded as if some condition had been satisifed and turned his attention to Harry. "Your vault is your own. With a bit of blood, I can deactivate your old key and tune a new one to you."

Harry looked over at his uncle, who nodded. "Yes, please."

It was over quickly. Ragnok pricked his finger with what looked like a letter opener, dug a key out of his desk drawer and let a drop fall over it, and handed the key over. Harry sucked on his finger for just a moment, until the blood clotted, and took the key with his other hand.

A goblin named Griphook took Harry and Edmund careening down a long passage in a cart on rusty rails and stopped suddenly in front of a vault marked 1013. The new key was used to allow him entry - Griphook looked sullen when it worked, apparently hoping that Harry would be marked as a nasty thief.

There were piles of gold galleons, and even more piles of sickles and knuts. While it seemed like a fortune at first, it was similar to looking at a small swimming pool of loosely piled ten pound bills - it looked nice and was a good bit of cash to have on hand, but it couldn't possibly be enough to do more than buy a house. It would be good to have, but it certainly wasn't a fortune.

"Would it be possible to have the sickles and knuts consolidated to galleons and as few sickles as possible?" Harry asked, turned back to Griphook. The goblin nodded glumly. "How much should I take?"

"I'm paying for all the necessaries, clothes and books, so anything you take is for your personal benefit."

Harry's fingers itched to scoop as many galleons as he could into his money bag, but he knew from experience that spending too much money at once left him with a pile of things he didn't really want when the rush ended.

"First-years aren't allowed to have brooms," Edmund reminded him.

"Right," Harry said absently. So he wouldn't need money for that... Harry put ten galleons into his bag and tucked it into one of his cloak's pockets.

The cart was much slower as it made its way back to the ground floor of the bank. Harry and Edmund made their way through the crowd and back out the front doors as quickly as they could. "Well, where to now?"

"Magie du Soleil!"

"Already?" Edmund glanced at his wristwatch. "Being underground always throws off my timesense." Edmund began walking further into Diagon Alley, and Harry followed happily. Magie du Soleil was a restaurant, too fancy for Harry's personal tastes but a favorite of Edmund and his friend Draco's parents. On the upside, they always had breakfast in a private room, and Harry and Draco were allowed to have their own table so they wouldn't be bored by the adults' conversation.

Edmund was quickly ushered to the private room as soon as he mentioned the Malfoys, who hadn't arrived yet. Harry was looking over the menu, wondering what sort of overly sweet concoction he could get the cooks to make, when the other family entered.

Lucius Malfoy was an imposing man, his dark robes offsetting his pale complexion and light blond hair. Narcissa, his wife, was smaller but seemingly content to be overshadowed in presence by her husband. Her coloring was the same as her husband's save for her eyes - where his were deep grey, hers were a pale blue.

Draco, their son, rushed in behind them, too eager to display proper manners. He shared the same hair and skin tone as both his parents, and while his eyes were the same grey as his father's, his delicate features greatly resembled Narcissa's. Not that Harry would ever call Draco 'delicate' to his face, of course.

"Hello, Mr. Pevensie," Draco remembered to say before exclaiming, "Harry, you'll never guess what came out a week early without being announced!" Then, without allowing him a chance to guess, Draco said, "The Nimbus Two Thousand!"

"No way!" Harry nearly shouted, rising to his feet so quickly that his chair squeaked backwards along the floor in protest.

"Manners," Lucius said disapprovingly.

Both boys froze. "Sorry, Mr. Malfoy." "Please forgive me, father." Lucius inclined his head, and both boys sat down in a more subdued fashion and began talking in low, urgent voices.

Edmund rose from his seat and shook Lucius's hand, then bent over Narcissa's hand and kissed it. "It's wonderful to see the two of you again. I'm sorry it's been so long since we were last able to meet."

"If not for us, then the children." Narcissa watched the two boys with a fond, loving expression. "Draco has so few friends of his age and social standing. I'll miss him about the manor."

"Forgive my wife's sentimentality," Lucius said, amused. She turned a smile on her husband. "I had wanted to send Draco to Durmstrang so he might have a better grounding in the Dark Arts, away from England's prejudices, but Narcissa could not bear to have him sent so far away."

"Harry wanted to be sent to France or Japan," Edmund chuckled. "Having Draco as a schoolmate might lessen the blow a bit."

"Does he have friends in those places?" Narcissa inquired as her eyes scanned over the menu.

"Yes, but I think it was more that he did not like the idea of Hogwarts. Susan feels it's the best place for him, but we've made no secret of our dislike for Headmaster Dumbledore."

"He pretends to be a doddering old fool while stirring all the other children against Slytherin," said Lucius, disgusted. "If not for Severus Snape, that house would be nothing right now. Enacting his own version of a war at a children's school!"

"I think I'd like poached runespoor eggs and toast," murmured Narcissa.

Lucius visibly calmed himself. "Have you chosen yet, Edmund?"

"Yes, I have." Edmund hid a small smile as the couple's arms shifted while Lucius used his free hand to touch his wand to a small, noiseless bell. Without looking, Edmund knew that the two were holding hands beneath the table.

A waiter appeared fifteen seconds later, ready to take their orders. Draco frantically looked over the menu, having forgotten to decide on a meal, and settled rather wildly on mixed berry pancakes and hot chocolate. Harry ordered last, as usual, and asked for, "Waffles made with bonito flakes mixed in, pancakes with strawberries and fluxweed, toast with butter made from the fat of a jabberknoll, and two fwooper eggs, once over easy, all stacked on top of each other in that order."

"That sounds disgusting," Draco informed Harry after the waiter had left.

"I like to try and stump the chefs here," Harry said loftily. "And if I can't, I eat the whole thing in one sitting."

"D'you have a second or third stomach?"

Edmund interjected mildly, "Before the meal arrives, Harry?"

Harry's stomach turned, and not from the thought of the strange breakfast he might soon be eating. "Right. Um..." Edmund gave him an encouraging look. The Malfoy adults seemed to know what was coming, and Draco looked curious. "Well, um. Draco. I have something to tell you about myself, but you can't treat me any differently, okay?"

"Are you secretly the heir of Slytherin?"

"Not as far as I know..."

"Were you born a girl and went through some dark spell to get made a boy?"

"What! No!"

"It's not about you being Harry Potter, is it?" Draco asked with deep disappointment.

"No- yes! Wait, who told!"

"I figured it out myself, as I am not an idiot," Draco sniffed. Lucius smiled indulgently and Narcissa chuckled quietly behind her hand. "That time you slept over, I saw you put makeup on your forehead - which is for _girls_, by the way - and when you took out those things in your eyes, they were a different color. And I thought, my goodness, what reason could a boy my age have for wearing makeup and changing the way he looks and be named Harry? So I figured you're either the Boy-Who-Lived or a girl in disguise. Or just a nancy."

"Is that why you walked in on me in the bathroom that one time?" Harry demanded. "I knew I locked that door!"

"Got it sorted out, didn't I?" Draco pointed out smugly.

The waiter came in shortly after with an expression similar to Draco's - Harry's breakfast had been made exactly to his specifications. To make matters worse. (at least in Harry's mind,) the messy stack of food was absolutely delicious. At least he could have indulged in quiet self-pity if it had been bad!

After breakfast was finished and enjoyed by all, it was time to go. Harry was reluctant to leave Draco, as if the other boy might suddenly decide to tell everyone his true identity once they were out of earshot of one another. "You've got to swear not to tell anyone before it gets out anyway," Harry said urgently as Edmund half-pulled him away. "Okay!"

"Deep breaths, _Pevensie_!" Draco laughed as he waved goodbye outside the restaurant.

"I can walk on my own," Harry insisted, suddenly turning around the right way.

"That would be a delight," said Edmund dryly. "Would you like to go to the ministry to register your wand or buy school supplies today?"

"We can't do both?"

"I'd rather not."

"School supplies, then," Harry said on a whim. He didn't really care which came first, although buying the things that were listed on his acceptance letter seemed at least slightly more interesting than wandering around a government building. "Can I get a new trunk?"

"What for?" Edmund asked, startled. "That's Peter's trunk, it's older than you."

"It's falling apart."

"It's lasted through several wars-"

"That's what I'm _worried_ about."

"-and it will last through another young boy's misuse," Edmund finished. "Besides, Lu put a brand new set of charms on it just for you, she'd be devestated if I brought it back."

Harry rather thought that by 'devestated' his uncle actually meant 'angry enough to hunt down Harry and ask him what was so wrong with it'. "Okay, fine. Books?"

"That's acceptable."

They wandered down to Flourish and Blotts, not in any hurry to push through the crowds. The bookstore had large stacks on books settled all around the counter and a frazzled looking attendent was pushing one of the stacks into the bag of a girl with brown hair in wild curls and slightly oversized teeth. The attendent looked up at the girl's parents. "Doesn't this thing have an expansion charm?" he asked rudely. "Or a featherweight?"

"I'm afraid we don't know what those are," said a man, probably the girl's father. "Hermione, put that down, you can read it later." The girl, who had picked up one of the books and begun flipping through it, guiltily placed it back on the stack.

"If I may be of service?" Edmund asked, suddenly by the attendent's side. He murmured a few words and flicked his wand at the bag, and the books suddenly fell in as if a great hole had opened beneath them. "There," he said, satisfied. "To pull one out, just reach in and think of which one you need."

"Thank you very much," the whole family said nearly in unison. They blinked at each other and laughed. The older woman was the first to extend a hand as the attendent rang up their purchases. Harry ignored the adults and went over to the girl, who was staring up at Edmund curiously. "Hello," said Harry. She looked over at him suddenly, her movements quick and jerky. "I'm Harry Pevensie. That's my uncle, Edmund."

He held out a hand, which she shook. "Hermione Granger. I'm a muggleborn. Magic is so terribly interesting, isn't it? I could've done with spells like that on my bags for _years_, Mum's been worried I'll hurt my back and shoulders with the amount of books I carry around."

"Er, yes." There, that was right, wasn't it? Harry was certain there'd been a question in there somewhere. "Are you starting at Hogwarts this year?"

"Yes, I'm really looking forward to it, although I'm terribly nervous as well. I suppose it won't be so bad for you, though, since it looks like your family's already familiar with magic and I really haven't a clue." Her hand made an abortive motion toward a curl of hair, as if she were reminding herself not to mess with it. "There really ought to be books for muggleborns, to tell them what they ought to know, don't you ought- don't you think, I mean?"

"Maybe there are." It sounded like Edmund was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger about dentistry, of all things. "Let's look around."

"Oh! Okay, sure."

Hermione seemed to calm down as they browsed the bookshelves together, ducking around and under the reach of any adults in their way. Harry noticed that Hermione had a tendency to open a book to see what the contents were like and get absorbed in actually reading it, and he had to pull her away from her reading several times. By the time the Grangers and Edmund called out for the children to come back, Harry and Hermione each had a copy of _Hogwarts, a History, So You've Found Out You're Not a Muggle_, and _A Young Witch or Wizard's Guide to Practical Etiquette_. Hermione tried to argue that Harry didn't need the second one, which Edmund echoed when he saw Harry's book selection.

"You've known about magic since you were five," Edmund reminded him, bewildered.

"It might help me get along with the muggleborn students better," said Harry, shrugging. Hermione beamed at him. If her parents were so interested in dental care, why did they let their daughter walk around with such overly large front teeth? Harry thought she'd look a bit less silly if they were smaller. And if she did something with her hair, but Harry reminded himself that he was hardly one to say such things - Harry's own hair rather resembled a bird's nest and had to be kept short to maintain any semblence of tidiness. As his mum sometimes said, "If we let it get very long, it would form legs, walk off, and likely eat the chickens."

"We really don't have much faith in it," said Hermione. "It's not as if I knew the term 'muggle' just when I'd found out I was a witch, so I can infer that I'll have to figure out some of the terms inside from context."

"I promised to help Hermione out on the train ride if she needed it."

Her parents looked ecstatic, and Mr. Granger swept his daughter up in a sudden hug. "Making friends already!" he crowed. "I'm so proud!"

"Dad!" Hermione protested as she squirmed in his grip.

"We really need to be going, I have some teeth to pull in two hours," said Mrs. Granger. "Edmund, Harry, it was lovely meeting the both of you."

"Bye Harry!" Hermione called out as she was half-dragged out by her father, who was still half hugging her. "See you on the train!"

"See you!" Harry echoed. He turned to Edmund, who was in the process of paying for the books. "So... she's nice."

"Yes," Edmund agreed as he laid out money. "Very talkative."

"I'm so glad I know _silencio_," Harry said fervently.

"She won't be your friend for very long if you take that route."

"It could be okay. I could tell her it's a friendly gesture."

"Be prepared to spend the rest of your life without a voice, in that case."

Harry let out a deep sigh, throwing his entire body into the gesture, and Edmund laughed and slid the stack of books off the counter and in his own bag.

They went to Madam Malkin's next to pick up Harry's school robes, which were dreadfully plain in his opinion. Harry was used to wearing bright, rich colors, not just boring black on everything. Even his winter cloak was meant to be black! He was placated by being reminded that he only had to wear the black work robes to his classes and could wear his normal robes everywhere else, but it wasn't much to him.

The telescope and potions equipment were all brought from home and didn't need to be newly bought - the former had been a present from someone visiting the Wayside House and the latter had been given to him from Susan so they could work on potions together. Susan and Harry both liked the closeness that came from working on the same task together, even if the potions they were making were different.

Nonetheless, Harry asked to go to an apothecary to spend his personal money on a few ingredients for his own personal ingredients storage. He hadn't been able to bring any from the Wayside House as everything potions-related was technically Susan's and it was hard to bring fresh ingredients to the House and replenish the stores. Edmund agreed that Harry could visit an apothecary, as long as they were quick about it, but he was reluctant to let Harry go to the one of his choosing.

"Really, Slug and Jigger's is just fine," Edmund insisted. "They have a perfectly decent selection, I'm sure you'll find whatever it is you need."

"I won't know until I see it, and Bezoar's Bane has a _better_ selection," said Harry, naming an apothecary in Knockturn Alley.

"That's because half of it's illegal!" Edmund noticed a few curious people looking over and lowered his voice. "And since when do you know what's down that way?"

"Since Lucy needed a distraction so she could get away from the aurors. Explosions coming from the shady part of town do the trick nicely, it seems."

It wasn't often that Harry saw his composed uncle Edmund speechless, but it had just become another one of those times. "I- wait, Lucy did- _what_ did she- no," he finished upbruptly, waving one hand and holding the other to his temple. "I don't want to know. I'll take you there and we'll never speak of this again."

"Suits me. Just don't mention it to Mum, okay?"

"Never again," Edmund repeated through clenched teeth.

"Thanks, Uncle Ed!" And to Edmund's eyes, there was something terribly wrong with the sight of a young boy skipping merrily down a sketchy looking side-street. He sighed and followed after his nephew.

"Look!" Harry shouted excitedly once they were inside the cramped and awful-smelling shop. Jars upon jars lined the walls on tilted and badly-spaced shelves. Taking up floorspace were more shelves filled with animal parts and roots of different exotic plants. Some live creatures were sliming or crawling their way in circles at the bottom of solid crates. "They have Ashwinder eggs!"

"What are those used for?" asked Edmund as he watched a fire-belching slug warily. A few other slugs in the crate seemed to have been reduced to ashes.

"Love potions and curing ague," Harry responded absently as he looked up to the next shelf.

"And do you _plan_ on making a love potion or contracting malaria?"

"Of course not, but it's _cool_. Mum doesn't have any."

"It certainly doesn't seem like one of the things our visitors tend to need."

"Oh hey, gillyweed! A hundred galleons to the pound, that's really cheap."

The shop owner made himself present at this point, giving Harry and Edmund an oily smile that looked incredibly fake. "I can see you have a discerning eye," the man crooned to Harry. "That is the most quality gillyweed I have ever had in stock, came fresh from off the Corsican coast last week and I've had it under a stasis spell since it arrived."

"The color's perfect," said Harry admiringly. "But I don't really have any need for it." He glanced over at the shelf of jars to his left and Edmund saw his eyes widen and quickly return to normal. Luckily, the owner had his head turned just at that moment and didn't see. "Powdered hens' teeth?" Harry asked casually.

"Oh yes, also very good quality," the man simpered. "The finest hens. What a dunce I am, it seems I forgot to label this one! Only twenty galleons for the jar, sir."

"It looks old," Harry said slowly, allowing doubt to creep into his voice.

"You are quite right, how could I have not noticed? I will reduce the price to eighteen galleons, sir, allowing for the age."

"This is ridiculous," Edmund said flatly, "and we have other things to do. I can't think of a single potion that uses powdered hens' teeth, and the dust on that jar is so thick you could swim in it, so I'm certain it's not a popular commodity. Ten galleons and we'll take it off your hands, or we need to get going."

Both the man and Harry glared at Edmund, who looked unphased. "Bloody ill-mannered nob," the man muttered as he snatched the jar off the shelf and took it back to the front counter. "Haggling is the best part of the whole thing."

"I'm so sorry for my uncle," Harry apologized as he took out the golden coins. Edmund rolled his eyes. "He just doesn't understand."

"He's right, though," the man sighed. When he wasn't trying to be ingratiating and stood straight, he seemed quite normal. "Nothing uses it. Bloody difficult to find, though, so there's that."

"Actually, I found a spell that uses it for the initial casting."

"What sort?"

"Fire protection, all kinds. The spell said specifically mentioned dragons as an example."

"Really?" said the man as he took the galleons. "Tell you what- wait, let me introduce myself. Marcus Bane."

"Harry Pevensie." They shook hands, both boy and man giving a businesslike grip.

"If this spell works, come and demonstrate for me and I'll reimburse you the ten galleons in exchange for a copy of it. I'm sure I can find some bottled dragonflame to test it with, and you're not likely to find a better chance at trying it out short of angering a real dragon."

"Done."

Impatiently, Edmund called out from the front of the store, "_Harry_."

"I'll owl you to let you know," Harry promised as he hurried out, brushing the thick dust off the jar with his sleeve as he walked around the crate of fire-belching slugs.

"Where to next?" asked Harry as they rushed back to Diagon Alley and made their way back through the crowds. "Is it lunch? I'm getting hungry again."

"A familiar, then I'll drop you back off at the Cauldron and you can tell Tom to put lunch of my bill."

"What, you're not staying?"

"Didn't I say? I have to make a housecall. Just checking up on one of the visitors, now that she's been home for a while."

"Which one?"

They'd arrived in front of Magical Menagerie by then and Edmund dropped a kiss to the top of Harry's head, making the boy squirm and bolt several steps back. "Not in public!" Harry hissed.

Edmund chuckled and handed over his money bag, then strode off. Harry was in the Menagerie and looking at some very chatty ravens before he realized that Edmund had entirely avoided answering his question.

Harry ended up returning to the Leaky Cauldron with a fuzzy purple kitten that seemed content to gnaw on Harry's finger rather than be stroked. The attendent had promised that the purple would darken to a deep violet as the cat aged and given Harry a free manual on how to train the kitten to carry messages to the correct recipient. The woman gave a speech that turned into a bit of a rant about how cats were better than owls - cats were a bit slower getting places but could get past all kinds of repelling charms and wards that stumped owls, they were much cuddlier than owls could ever be, and so on. Harry suspected that the nearby Owl Emporium was giving the Menagerie a bit of competition for customers.

The downstairs room of the Cauldron was full of customers, so Harry bought a wrapped sandwich and a bit of extra meat and took it up to his room. He put the kitten and the bits of turkey on a plate, then gave her an absentminded pat on the head before picking up his wand from the bed. Edmund had dropped it there before he left the room.

He dropped the wand back on the thin blanket and pulled a trunk out from beneath his bed. It looked the same as ever - old and leather-covered, but wearing thin and developing large holes where it had a tendency to fall on the ground. The dull metal clasps that held the trunk shut had the letter 'P' scratched in on either side. Harry flipped the clasps open and pulled out a piece of leather with straps and no buckles to be seen.

He closed the trunk again, then placed the leather flat on his bed and his arm on top of it, then snatched up his wand with his left hand and touched it to the leather. The straps instantly reached up and around Harry's forearm, twining and melding together until they looked as if they had always been connected. Harry placed his wand on top of it, and bits of leather crawled over the wooden object to create several loops that held the wand in place. Satisfied, Harry pulled the sleeve of his robe back over his arm and began eating his sandwich.

Harry spent several hours not doing much of anything. He read the introductions to all of his textbooks and the first chapters of all the books he'd gotten for recreational reading. The cat took up residence at Harry's feet, sleeping and sometimes purring and usually gnawing idly on Harry's big toe.

He grew hungry again eventually and went downstairs for more food. The cat followed close at his heels, refusing to be left behind. When he saw Harry coming, Tom handed over an envelope along with another sandwich and a rather large piece of chicken. "Letter came through the floo for you," Tom said gruffly. "The missus dropped some chicken on the floor, didn't think your cat's much of a picky eater."

"Thank you, I'm sure she'll love it."

"Got a name yet?"

"Not yet." The cat began chewing on Harry's ankle, so he lifted her onto the bar and let her at the slightly dusty meat. She attacked it happily. "Do you have any ideas?"

"If you don't mind the thought, the missus' name's Helen."

The cat sneezed with such force that she jumped slightly. "I like that. You know, there was a Helen of Troy who was supposed to be the most beautiful person in the world."

Tom snorted. "Not much in common with the old woman, then."

Harry laughed and watched Helen eat while Tom walked further down the bar to talk to a hag that had been leering at Harry. When the cat was finished, he took the sandwich and letter in one hand and cradled the cat in the other, then went back to his room on the floor above.

The seal on the envelope was made of red wax with gold flakes mixed in, and the image imprinted from a ring was that of a crowned lion with three stars above his head. The wax and crowned lion were used by Harry's mother, uncles, and aunt alike. The part that told him who had sent it was the number of stars - three stars meant the third oldest of the siblings, which was Edmund. Sitting on his bed, Harry cracked the wax and opened the envelope.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry to be taking so long, but Susan was right to ask me to check up on this girl - she's gone completely mental in the entirely opposite direction. She's young yet, so I don't want to take her back to the House. We're hoping that a bit of normal socializing can fix the new problem. I expect you'll see her at Hogwarts next year, so let's let it be a long awaited surprise and don't bother me for her identity, if you please._

_I'll be back before you wake up in the morning. Don't leave the Leaky Cauldron unless your safety has been compromised on the level of a large-scale fire._

_Your faithful uncle,_

_Ed_

Where would he have gone anyway? Harry had visited Diagon Alley several times before but was much more familiar with the bazaars in India and how to navigate Japan's spirit roads. Harry rubbed at the makeup over his scar, which did not smear a bit under its preservation charm, then attacked his sandwich. He read while he ate, trying not to drop crumbs in his book's binding, and continued reading until his eyes dropped shut. In the dim light of his bedroom, Harry slept peacefully, a book held loosely to his stomach and his new cat curled up on his chest.

Edmund did not arrive the next morning as promised, but Harry felt only disappointment and no worry. He'd sparred with his uncle before and knew exactly how dangerous and controlled Edmund could be. No, it was more likely that Edmund had gotten caught up in something and forgotten to send notice of another delay, or he'd exhausted himself and slept later than he meant to.

Harry went downstairs for more food and to check for a letter from his uncle - another sandwich was available but there was no message. He took a tin of tuna upstairs for Helen, who woke up at the smell of fish entering the room.

It seemed that Helen found Harry's fingers much less appetizing than the tuna as Harry was able to pet her without getting nibbled back as she ate. He stroked her with one hand and held his wand in the other, examining it closely.

There were many different wandmakers in the world, men and women who had devoted their lives to wandlore and the creation of those magical artifacts. The wands that these people sold were suited for all sorts of different types of people, but rarely would any of their wands suit a wizard or witch _perfectly_. They were not, after all, custom made.

Harry's wand was his entirely, made perfectly for him alone. And not by a wandmaster like Ollivander or Gregorivitch, but a sorceror who had lived for a very long time and had become a jack-of-all-trades when it came to magic. Harry had been made to help with the process - he made appropriate supplications to an oak tree before taking one of its branches, still green within. Harry had been the one to request and pluck a hair from a lion's mane, and he had practiced creating the shape of a wand with what had seemed like endless pieces of discarded wood before he eventually cut and sanded the oak branch that the tree had given him. The sorceror had told Harry what to do and had eventually bound the magical core within the wand, but it had been Harry himself who did the most work.

All wands bought from a licensed wandmaker working in a country in the International Confederation of Wizards had a single thing in common - a tracing spell. Until the witch or wizard who owned it reached the age of seventeen, the use of magic from the wand when the student was not in school alerted the local government - the Ministry of Magic, in the case of the United Kingdom - that the wand's owner was casting illegally.

It was all fine unless you used an inherited wand or had one made for you by a less-than-reputable sorceror. In those cases, you were required to take the wand to your government to be registered and have a trace put on it.

It wasn't anything Harry or his family was likely to do on their own, but Hogwarts required it from their students, so Harry had to have it done before school started, which was the next day. Harry waited through the morning for his uncle, but when lunch came and passed with no further communication, Harry took Helen and went downstairs to ask Tom for access to the floo.

The old man had stared at him a bit suspiciously. "I remember your uncle saying you were to stay put, lad," said Tom.

Helen kneeded the front of Harry's cloak with her tiny claws, looking oddly content to be draped across his shoulder. Harry blew a bit of purple fuzz from his mouth. "I would, but he's not back yet and I need to get this done before school starts." Tom looked like he was softening. "I'm only going to the Ministry, that's safe enough, right? And I'll come right back when I'm done, I swear."

"You write a note for your uncle," Tom said gruffly, shoving over a bitten down pencil and a grimy piece of reciept paper. "So he'll know you're safe if he comes back before you do."

Harry scribbled down a message - _Still alive. MoM. Harry_. - and took a small handful of green powder from the pot that Tom offered. A few quick steps took him to the fireplace, where he through in the floo powder and waited for the flames to turn green before he stepped in, one hand firmly on his cat's back. "Ministry of Magic."

The atrium was full of people coming and going, almost as busy as Diagon Alley had been the day before, and Harry regretted coming at the end of the lunch hour. Still, he made his way through the crowd and was careful not to let Helen fall off. "Excuse me," he said breathlessly as he reached the information desk. "I need to register my wand before school starts?"

"Guardian with you?" said the bored young woman before she blew a bubble with the gum she'd been chewing.

"No. Do I need him?"

The gum snapped and she chewed noisily on it once more. "Nah. Just got to ask." Another bubble blown and popped as she touched her wand to a blank badge. "Name?"

"Harry Pevensie."

Writing appeared on the badge and Harry read it when the girl handed it over. 'Harry Pevensie, Wand Registration.' "Follow the bird, lovey," she said as she touched her wand to a bit of purple paper. It folded itself up into an origami bird, which fluttered its wings once before flying up and circling Harry's head. Harry thanked the woman and followed the bird as it flew off, holding down Helen once more when she tried to swat at the flying object.

The bird led Harry past a lift, up two flights of stairs, down a hall, up another set of stairs, and then down three more. He wasn't even sure if he was at ground level or below by the time he reached the small office that was his destination.

The bird unfolded itself after Helen finally succeeded in one of her attacks, and Harry worried momentarily before watching it slide under the down as if it had meant to release its form all along. "Come in," called a man from inside the office.

The man who solely manned Wand Registration was pleasant if distracted and Harry's wand and paperwork were both taken care of right away. Harry left the office pleased with how it had gone and went back to the strairs, up three flights, down two, through a hall, up one more floor...

By the time Harry realized that he was thoroughly lost, he was too far from the office he'd visited to go back and ask for directions, and some part of him was nervous at the idea of asking a random adult for help. He'd grown up surrounded by adults that he'd trusted and had rarely been without them for any length of time. With a clear destination in mind he'd been able to complete his task, but now he wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't find the lift and the multiple stairways seemed to be taking him in circles.

Harry finally made up his mind to ask for help, but by then he had ended up in a hall where all the doors were marked as courtrooms, and he definitely didn't want to accidentally interupt a court hearing. Harry tried to backtrack but found himself at multiple dead ends.

Finally, just as he was starting to despair of ever getting out of the awful building, Harry spotted pale hair and a tailored, expensive cloak. "Mr. Malfoy!" Harry called out, forgetting manners in his relief.

Lucius Malfoy turned around, a look of confusion quickly giving way to his usual calm. The man who had been walking next to him, short with a somewhat nervous face, turned around as well. "Do you know this lad, Lucius?" the man asked incredulously.

Harry stopped his run when he drew close and flushed, not from exertion but from embarassment. "Er, sorry."

"Quite," Lucius drawled. "Minister Fudge, this is Harry Pevensie, a friend of my son's. Harry, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge."

Harry remembered himself quickly enough to duck into a proper bow as befitted the minister before him. "I'm honored, sir."

"What a polite young man," Fudge said, beaming. "Harry... Pevensie, you said?"

"Named after Harold Warshaw, sir," Harry said, naming the minister of magic from several hundred years ago.

"Ah, of course, of course."

"I'm really sorry to interupt, but I-" not lost, that sounded like he was still a silly boy, "misplaced myself." That wasn't much better, but Harry continued on anyway. "I meant to return to the atrium and found myself here."

"Good heavens, lad, you've misplaced yourself by quite a bit!"

Lucius interjected coolly, "The minister and I have just completed our business. I would be happy to escort you safely home."

Harry was certain that at least one lecture would come out of the day's events, but it wasn't as if he could avoid it at that point. "Yes sir, thank you very much."

"Good day, Minister," said Lucius. Harry echoed him and they parted ways.

Out of earshot from the minister, Lucius looked down at Harry as they walked. "And where is the elder Mr. Pevensie?"

Harry refrained spouting the first response that came to mind, which was asking what his uncle Peter had to do with anything. "Out, sir. I didn't know if he would be home before the work day ended and I really needed my wand registered before school starts tomorrow."

"I see," Lucius said gravely. "Does Edmund know that you're out and about?"

"...No, sir. I left him a note," Harry offered meekly.

"A note." The heavy tone implied what Lucius Malfoy thought of this. "And why did you not ask Mr. Sachs for directions back to the atrium?"

Trust Mr. Malfoy to know the name of a man in a tiny little office at the end of the building! "I didn't think of it until I was already lost, sir."

"Misplaced, I believe you said earlier."

"Yes sir, sorry. Misplaced."

The reached a crowded part of the ministry again and Lucius fell silent. Several halls later, they arrived at the lift, and only when they were in the middle of the bustle on the ground floor did Lucius speak again. "Harry, I am glad you were honest with me, but you must remember that honesty has its time and place. I trust you would not have been so open if, say, a strange woman were escorting you?"

"Of course not!" Harry protested. "But you're okay, aren't you?"

Lucius smiled then, a rare and sincere expression. "Your innocence is refreshing. Floo back to wherever you've been staying, now. I'll give my wife and son your regards."

"Please do," Harry responded automatically with the etiquette that his mother had drilled into him, "and I will pass yours on to my uncle."

Flooing back to the Leaky Cauldron was easy, but all hopes of hiding what he had done disappeared when Harry saw Edmund waiting for him by the stairs. Edmund gave Harry a thunderous look before heading up the stairs, and Harry gazed longingly back at the fireplace for just a moment, as the green flames turned red again. His easiest method of escape gone, Harry sighed and followed his uncle back to their room, steeling himself inwardly for the lecture that was sure to come. Harry would keep his voice low and explain, and he could feel like the true adult when it was all over.

Within the first two minutes, Edmund had to cast a silencing charm around the room to keep their row from bothering everyone else in the building.

"You weren't back yet, and you'd _promised_!" Harry shouted angrily, waving his wand hand about although the wand itself was tucked securely in his holster. "What was I supposed to do, hope everything turned out well?"

"I told you to _wait_! It's dangerous for you to be out alone, what would your mum think?"

"Don't bring Mum into this!"

"Lion's mane, you're only eleven years old! No matter how well we've trained you, all it takes it one person to sneak up on you and that's it!"

"Don't give me that shite! When Lucy was my age, she'd fought in a war already!"

Edmund's face flushed horribly, and Harry was almost certain that he was about to get cursed. "When _I_ was your age," Edmund hissed hotly, his voice suddenly low and dangerous, "I'd given the White Witch knowledge enough to _start_ that war!"

Harry had never heard that before. It had never even been hinted in the scraps of tales he'd heard about Narnia, it had never shown in the way everyone else treated Edmund. "What?"

"So don't tell me you're so responsible and self-sufficient, because I thought the same and it nearly got everyone else killed!"

"I, I didn't-" Harry stammered.

The life seemed to drain out of Edmund; he would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't been standing just by the bed. His hands went to his forehead, rubbing away a headache and covering his face from Harry's view. "I was a very stupid eleven year-old," Edmund admitted wearily, raising his face in a brief smile when Harry sat next to him. "My siblings and Aslan all forgave me, but it doesn't negate what I did. All I want, Harry, is for you to think about others before you rush into things. You're an intelligent boy, but you lack foresight. Tom says it was his idea for you to leave a note. Can you imagine how worried I'd have been without it? And how worried I was even with it, knowing you'd been gone for so long and still weren't back?"

"I didn't think about it," Harry admitted uncomfortably. "And, um, I got very... misplaced, at the ministry. I was lucky to run into Mr. Malfoy."

Edmund reached an arm around Harry, who leaned into the embrace. "I've had a great many friends and comrades over the years, but you're the first new family member I've had since Lucy was born. I need to know you'll be safe without anyone looking after you."

"I_ will_. I'll be more careful, I promise."

"Look before you leap, and think before you act."

"Yes, Uncle Ed."

"And for Aslan's sake, don't go off doing things just to prove you're capable."

"Yes, Uncle Ed," Harry repeated. He shoved down his floating annoyance, knowing that he deserved what was being said. Harry missed the warmth when Edmund moved away, but watched curiously as the older man bent down to his discarded cloak and took a bag from an inside pocket. "What's that?"

"Gifts from all of us, for your birthday." Harry's birthday was technically July 31st according to his records, but they'd been misplaced by the foster system and hadn't been found until Harry was eight years old. Since his adoption, they'd simply celebrated his birthday on the anniversary of that date - September 15. "I ought not to give you these after you've just disobeyed me, but there won't be a chance to give them to you later." Edmund drew out a sheathed dagger first, too large to have fit in the small bag without magic, but still very flat. Harry took it carefully and drew the blade, admiring its silvery gleam. "From Peter. You know how he feels about relying too much on magic. It's dwarf-made, or goblin-made, from his coronation."

"It's beautiful." Harry reluctantly slid the dagger back into its sheath. Harry already owned a battle sword, a ceremonial sword, a blunted sword for practice, and two different bows for archery, but he'd never had his own dagger before. He usually just practiced with Lucy's. All his weaponry had been deemed too large to carry around a school full of children, and there was something comforting about having a concealed knife on hand. "Are weapons allowed at Hogwarts?"

"They haven't been disallowed," Edmund said with a wry grin. "Or at least, the rules seem to state that you need to be considered competent with any blade you carry. Shouldn't be a problem for you."

The next item that Edmund handed over was a small scroll. Harry unfurled it and saw a list of six names and tasks, all in Lucy's sprawling cursive. "An old to-do list?" Harry cracked a grin, and Edmund did the same.

"Of a sort. She's been spending the last few months running errands for magical humans and creatures. In return, they've all promised different favors if you should ask it of them."

Harry took a better look at the list, which suddenly sounded very useful.

_Acromantulas - Forbidden Forest - ridiculous name for a forest by a school, it's like daring the children - won't eat you _  
><em>Amelia Bones - MM, DMLE - legal advice <em>  
><em>Circe Edgecombe - MM, DMT - floo network, connection or disconnection <em>  
><em>Miranda Goshawk - Rowena's Valley - primary source for spellwork essays?<em>  
><em>Xenophilius Lovegood - Ottery St. Catchpole - occult information, grain of salt <em>  
><em>Unicorns - Forbidden Forest - donate a vial s.5 of blood, follow proper procedure <em>  
><em>Happy birthday, Harry! Your favorite aunt Lucy<em>

"What on earth?" Harry asked, bewildered.

Edmund leaned over to look at it. "I think she means to take everything Xeno says with a grain of salt, not that he'll actually give you one."

"No, I figured_ that_ out. It's just... some of this looks so useful, and some of it..." Harry swept a hand helplessly over the parchment, then gave a short laugh. "That is_ so_ Lucy."

"I daresay it will all come in handy when you least expect it."

"I know; that's why it worries me." He stared at the list a moment longer before shaking his head free of thoughts and rolling the paper back up with a definitive air. "Right. At the very least, I won't have to concern myself about a pack of vicious man-eating spiders."

"That's the spirit." Edmund took something else out from the bag - what looked to be a journal bound in black dragonhide. "This one's from me." Harry took the book and flipped through its lined pages while Edmund explained. "The charms will let you send letters to us and vice versa. There's another copy resting on the mantle of the living room. All you have to do is write a letter to us and add the word 'send' to the end in capital letters, and it will show up in our copy. We can send you letters the same way."

Edmund retrieved a small, white box from the bag as well. "And _this_ contains your new contact lenses. I just finished all the safety checks on the charms." The eyes of any living being were notoriously vulnerable to charms and curses alike, something that prevented magical sight correction from being performed by anyone other than an expert. Contact lenses, being placed on top of the eyes, were safer because if anything interfered with the attached charms, they could simply be taken out. "The edges will blend in with the rest of your eye to make them nearly impossible to see, they're self-lubricating so you won't need drops, there's an extremely mild sticking charm to keep them from falling off, and they're self-freshening so you won't need to replace them for about six months."

"That's magnificent!" Harry said admiringly, reaching around to give his uncle a quick hug. Edmund had essentially fixed every single problem that Harry liked to complain about when he was made to use the contacts instead of his normal glasses. "Thank you! I'll put them on after I open Mum's gift."

Edmund smiled and handed over the last item without any explanation. It didn't need any, after all. It was a small stone ring, decorated by a rearing, crowned lion and two small stars, with the entire design being enclosed by a circle. A shiver ran through Harry. "Mum's ring," he whispered. Harry turned concerned eyes up to his uncle's gaze. "She's alright, isn't she?"

"She's fine," Edmund assured him. "There are still some who remember Narnia and its friends. You're the heir to her nearly forgotten throne, now."

Harry slipped the ring onto his right middle finger, where Susan had always worn it. He knew it would not come off unless he pulled on it with the thumb and middle finger of his opposite hand. It was a trick that had always amused Harry when he was young - it never failed to entertain him, how he could never tug the ring off of his mother's finger and she had to do it the proper way to get it off at all.

"To the radiant southern sun," Edmund murmured. Harry felt homesickness rise up in a rush and had to blink several times to keep from crying. He'd never left home for more than a month, and he'd never been alone while gone. The ring reminded him that no matter how long he was gone, his mother would be waiting for him back at the Wayside House - beautiful and consistent, like the rising of the sun.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

"Mahoudo Gakuen" is something like "The Path of Magic Academy," path being a sort of journey or 'way' and not a literal road. It's a naming style commonly used for things like martial arts, such as 'judo' which is commonly translated to 'gentle way'. I was so pleased with the name when I thought it up that I included it in the story, even though there's no real reason for Harry to have learned Japanese rather than another European language.

"To the radiant southern sun" is how Susan was introduced by Aslan during her coronation, and is a direct quote from the book. So, not a typo, at least on my end! In the real world, the sun rises in the east.

To anyone who caught the Immortals Quartet and Dealing with Dragons references: cookies for you!

EDIT: I never intended to continue this story, but I was quite overcome by the number of favorites and alerts people put on it; I can understand favorites, sort of, but over fifty alerts for a story that was listed as complete! I'm absolutely beside myself. I can't promise that I'll keep up with this story at any kind of decent speed, or even that I'll finish it at all, but the number of responses has inspired me to write a second chapter. I've just finished it and need it to sit a few days before I look over it and do edits, but I ought to have it out within the next week.

To everyone: thank you very, very much.

PS: Looking back over this, the Immortals Quartet reference wasn't so much a reference as something inspired by some lines from the fourth book: Ed and Harry's lines about Peter's trunk are inspired by the dialogue about the first wood-and-rope bridge, where Daine and Numair are told that its stood for "time out of mind," and they respond together, "That's what I'm afraid of."


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: I added this to the end of the previous chapter, but I'll put it here too - this chapter was entirely written because so many people reviewed, favorited, and alerted something I'd had no intention of continuing that I was touched and inspired to write more. I have no idea how long I'll keep this up, so we'll see!

I made a small edit to the previous chapter where Edmund and Harry are talking about the way he looks and that he might be recognized. The line now reads,

_"__The __headmaster __isn__'__t __an __idiot__, __Harry__, __or __so __I__'__m __told__. __You __may __look __a __great __deal __more __like __Susan __than __you __did __when __you __came __to __us__," __thanks __to __Harry__'__s __desperate __yearning __for __Susan __to __be __his __real __mother __and __a __spurt __of __accidental __magic__, "__but __the __man __may __easily __put __together __your __first __name __and __your __birthday __and __put __it __together __to __make __Harry __Potter__."_

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**Two**

* * *

><p>Hermione was terribly excited about Hogwarts. It was practically a dream come true - for years she'd felt different, ostracized from her classmates for being smarter and always lost in books. Now, she finally knew why - she was a <em>witch<em>, meant for a different world than everyone she'd grown up knowing.

Hogwarts was a strange name, but fantasy books were full of strange names - Hermione had never met anyone named Legolas or Veralidaine in real life, after all - and Hogwarts was just like a fantasy book come true. She was going to be taught at a _castle _and she'd bought an actual _wand_ that Mr. Ollivander has said would be good for complex spellwork - honest-to-goodness _spells__!_

She'd tried a few from her spellbook and suceeding in making her hairbrush dance in the air a bit, as well as create a small flame that didn't actually burn. Her father was worried it would somehow get out of control, though, and Hermione spent three times as long as it had taken to create the flame to figure out a way to get rid of it. In the end, she had to give up and just scooped up the bluebell flame into a jar. She planned to use it to replace her electric nightlight for the night.

Her parents had kindly told her she didn't need to do her chores for the day so that she could read up and study ahead for classes. And while everything was terribly interesting, and _Hogwarts__, __a __History_ was just _fascinating_, the book she focused on the most was the guide to practical etiquette. Hermione had been confused when she flipped through and saw that the book was blank - she'd been certain it'd been full of text when she looked at it in the store - when she saw that the first page asked her a question and had a blank line for writing on.

_"__Before __reading __this __book__, __please __answer __the __following __questions__: __are __you __male __or __female__?"_

Hermione hated defacing books and wouldn't even bend the pages to keep her place in one, so it was with great trepidation that she found a ballpoint pen and wrote in tidy cursive, _"__Female__."_

The printed text and her handwritten answer faded away to be replaced by another question.

_"__What __is __your __blood __status__?"_

Luckily, she'd read one of her other books already, one that the nice boy Harry at the shop had pointed out that explained common terminology in the wizarding world. _"__Muggleborn__."_

_"__Do __you __have __a __magical __guardian__?"_

_"__No__,"_ she wrote.

_"__How __old __are __you__?"_

_"__Eleven__."_

_"__You __are __an __underage __muggleborn __witch __with __no __magical __guardian__. __Is __this __correct__?"_

_"__Yes__."_

This time, when the words diappeared, it took a full minute for anything to happen. Hermione was beginning to get nervous when a new sentence showed up.

_"__This __book __has __been __optimised __to __give __you __a __guide __to __etiquette __suitable __to __your __status__. __If __you __become __male__, __discover __a __magical __ancestor__, __reach __your __majority __of __age__, __or __acquire __a __magical __guardian__, __you __may __return __to __this __page __and __change __one __of __your __previous __answers __so __that __the __book __may __resuit __itself __to __your __needs__."_

Hermione really hoped the book was joking about the gender change.

She turned the page and found that the rest of the book's text had reappeared, starting with an introduction that made it very clear that if she wanted to fit in with the wizarding world on a permanent basis, she would have to follow the rules and traditions that that world valued. Since she was underage and had no one to personally guide her transition, the book explained, a few social mistakes would be forgiven, but it would naturally be best if she made no mistakes at all. The book frankly told her that she might never achieve the same prestige that purebloods obtained simply by being born into an old family, but with hard work, excellent bearing, and unimpeachable manners, she would be accepted wholeheartedly into the magical community.

If there was anything Hermione had ever wanted in her life, it was to be accepted. She didn't put down the book until she was done reading it straight through, and then re-read it at dinner that night. Hermione took breaks occasionally, reading a few chapters of _Hogwarts__, __a __History_ for fun, but went right back to studying the etiquette guide after.

She refused to go back to the muggle world, not when she had a chance to be a witch. Hermione was determined to fit in.

* * *

><p>"If it weren't for the fact that she's lavender and has eyes, I'd think that cat was a part of your hair," Edmund said wonderingly. "No, wait, I mis-spoke - I completely believe that your hair would grow its own eyes."<p>

Harry scowled but kept his head level. His cat Helen was, after all, laying on top of it. "This is the last thing you want to say to me before I leave for the next year? Really?"

"You've got everything?" Edmund asked. "This is your last chance to check."

"Even if I did forget something, it's a bit late to go back for it."

"Yes, but you can let me know and I'll owl it to you in time for you to have it for classes tomorrow," Edmund pointed out.

Harry sighed. "Ring," he said, holding up his right hand where he wore his mum's old ring. "Dagger." He lifted his long coat and patted the dagger underneath, carried safely in a sheath at his side. "Ratty old trunk." Peter's old trunk was on the floor at his side. "Helen." He carefully stroked the fuzzy lump that was sleeping on top of his head. She had an ability to balance anywhere that Harry wasn't sure should have been attributed to being raised in a magical environment or just being a cat.

"All right. I'll miss you." Edmund knelt down and hugged Harry, then gave him a kiss on the cheek that Harry quickly wiped off. Edmund chuckled at the small scowl on Harry's face. "Get on, then," he said as the train blew its whistle warningly. "Write your mum once you're settled in."

"I _will_," Harry sighed as he picked up his trunk.

"Love you."

"Love you too," Harry mumbled, as if afraid someone else would hear and think him a sissy for showing emotions. He looked around for anyone he knew and gave his uncle another quick hug before dashing off.

Harry got on the train, nearly getting knocked over by a pair of twins as he did so, and carried his case down the aisle, occasionally looking into compartments to see if Draco was in one of them. He was a bit startled when he opened one and a girl inside exclaimed, "Harry!"

"Hi, Hermione," he said in greeting as he entered the compartment. He could always put down his things and talk for a few minutes before he looked for Draco. "How've you been?"

"Oh, very good. I've been doing a lot of reading so I won't be behind, and I've studied that etiquette book you recommended. I don't want to make any bad impressions," she confessed nervously. She gripped the sides of her simple, red dress, which was probably of muggle make but didn't look out of place on a witch.

"The book's really good," Harry assured her. "I told you that's the one my mum used to teach me, didn't I?"

"Really? That makes me feel so much better." Hermione gave a happy sigh of relief. "I want to fit in so much, after seven years of learning magic I wouldn't be able to fit back in the muggle world again even if I wanted to, not without my GSCEs or A-levels. Aren't you going to sit down? Do you need help getting your trunk up?"

"I- er, sure, thanks." Well, he'd always be able to find Draco after the train arrived. Hermione helped Harry get his trunk onto the overhead rack - it had a featherlight charm on it, but the rack was too high up for Harry to get the trunk up easily by himself - and then they both sat down.

Before Hermione could open her mouth, the train started moving and the compartment door opened. "There you are, Harry!" Draco exclaimed. Vince and Greg were standing behind him like bodyguards, although Harry knew they were just content to follow Draco around. Harry had met them before and found them both to be fairly quiet and easily directed. "I was worried you'd missed the train. Who's this, then?"

Hermione gave Draco a look that was both mildly disapproving and cautious. It reminded Harry of how he'd always thought his mum would react to Draco at first meeting - he was far too informal when his parents weren't around to remind him that manners were meant to always be used, not just when he felt like it.

Harry cast around in his memory, trying to remember exactly where female muggleborn placed against male pureblood. She couldn't actually be expected to know all the rules and didn't have a chaperone to guide her, which automatically placed Harry in that position... Harry really hated etiquette, no matter how important his mum and Edmund seemed to think it was. "Miss Granger, I would like to introduce to you Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Vincent Crabbe, and Mr. Gregory Goyle." All of the boys stood straighter once they realized a formal introduction was being made. "Gentlemen, Miss Hermione Granger, who is in my care during this meeting."

The boys made various statements as to how it was a pleasure, and Hermione beamed smiles at all of them as she said, "It is my honor to meet all of you."

"Can you lot go in or move out?" a redheaded boy complained from the walkway.

"Who are you to-" Draco started, but Harry cut in with, "Come on in guys, sit with us," and got the three of them to come inside the compartment before Draco got into a fight. It was a bit of a tight fit while they got the luggage up, but in the end they got settled on their seats with Vince and Greg, who were rather large for their age, on one side, and Harry, Hermione, and Draco in a slightly tight fit on the other side.

"Since we're going to be schoolmates," Draco started, "it's completely appropriate for me to call you 'Granger' without the 'Miss,' don't you agree?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it and looked to Harry. He shrugged. "As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable, I don't see why not."

"Great!" said Draco without waiting for Hermione to confirm the answer. "And you can just call me 'Malfoy.' With that out of the way, Harry: did you manage to sneak in a broom?"

"First years aren't allowed brooms," said Hermione, a bit bossily.

Harry nodded. "I've told him that, at least twice. So did Uncle Ed. And Draco's parents. And-"

"Let's not get into details," Draco said dismissively. "I'm deeply disappointed in you, Harry. What sort of young men are we if we don't try to break a few rules?"

"Upstanding ones?" Vince offered, his voice much quieter than his size might have suggested.

"Young men who won't get punished?" Greg suggested dryly.

"I'm disowning all of you," Draco declared. "You'll all be written out of the will."

Harry snorted. "We'll just have to kill you before you can get to doing it, then."

They joked around for a few more minutes. Hermione remained silent, although Harry could see that she wanted to speak a few times. Since she'd never hesitated in offering an opinion during their previous meeting, he wondered if she'd read or decided that is was impolite for her to talk. Harry was much more familiar with the set of rules governing his own status than whatever rules a girl of non-magical lineage had to follow.

They eventually got on the topic of houses. "I'll be Slytherin, of course, and so will these two," Draco said, gesturing to Vince and Greg. "Well, Greg's worried about being sorted Hufflepuff," Draco said, speaking over Greg's embarassed cry of, "Draco, you promised!" "But I know it'll turn out," Draco finished. "It's fine, Greg, who're these two going to tell? And when you come out Slytherin, no one will care what you were worried about in the first place. And Harry, you'll probably be Ravenclaw like your mum, right?"

"My relatives never went to Hogwarts, you know that."

"They went to one of the other schools?" Hermione asked, finally speaking up. "Beauxbatons or Durmstrang?"

"Harry won't tell me where they _did _go," said Draco before Harry could answer. "But I've met his two uncles and his aunt, and they all take after different houses. The only one left over is Ravenclaw, so his mother must be a Ravenclaw-ish sort of person. You know, studies a lot, loves reading, sort of a swot."

"My mum's not a swot!" Harry said hotly. "And you could let me talk for myself!"

"Sorry!" When Harry kept glaring, Draco said earnestly, "I really am sorry. I'm sure Ms. Pevensie is lovely. She should come out and have lunch with Father and Mother sometime."

Susan couldn't come out, of course, but the apology sounded sincere enough that Harry nodded. Draco smiled, obviously relieved that he hadn't actually upset his friend, and turned to Hermione. "How about you, Granger? What house do you think you'll be in?"

"I thought Gryffindor sounded lovely," said Hermione. "The place where the brave go."

Draco made a face. "You seem a decent sort, and obviously no one's told you about the houses very well- did your parents not go to Hogwarts either?"

"Um, no."

True enough, although Draco obviously thought she had magical parents. Neither Harry nor Hermione bothered to correct him. "Then you should know that Gryffindor is where the foolhardy, leap-before-you-look people all go. And for that matter, Hufflepuff's for the people who don't fit in anywhere else, you may as well go home if you end up there." Hermione got a queer look on her face when Draco said that. "Slytherin's the best, obviously, but if you're not fit for cunning, Ravenclaw's a good second. The real difference, my father told me, is that Slytherins become important people and Ravenclaws learn important things."

"I've always wanted to be brave," Hermione confessed in a small voice. "I thought that, maybe... being in the 'brave' house would make me that kind of person."

"I don't even know why you'd _want_ to be brave," Draco complained. "Better leave it to other people and stay safe yourself, I'd say. You should remember that," he told the other boys, "that's very quotable." Harry, Vince, and Greg all looked at each other in commiserating exasperation.

Hermione smiled.

They continued chatting for quite a while. It was mostly Draco and Harry talking, although occasionally Greg would make a dry joke or Hermione would ask a question, always careful to sound like she needed a point clarified instead of needing the whole topic explained. By mentioning she went to the continent for summer holidays, Draco obviously developed the impression that she wasn't familiar with English wizarding customs and places only because she didn't spend much time in England. Hermione nearly corrected Draco once, but Harry kicked her foot gently and shook his head when Draco wasn't paying attention. Draco was an all right sort as long as he thought you were pureblood, but he could be rather nasty about muggleborns and muggles. Vince noticed the byplay between Harry and Hermione and raised his eyebrows, which Harry responded to by shrugging. Vince stared for a moment, then shrugged back.

Draco, who had been waxing about the glories of France in the summer, finally noticed something was going on. "What's that about?" he asked abruptly.

"What's what about?" Vince asked.

"The shrugging."

"You can't tell Vince not to shrug, Draco," said Greg. "I know our dads said to listen to you, but there's limits."

"I wasn't- nevermind. The train's slowing, we should put on our robes."

Getting down each trunk individually to pull out the robes was a bit of a hassle. Helen jumped off of Harry's head when he took off his jacket and went to pull his robe on; the sudden movement from the top of his head startled Harry into calling out irritably, "Oi!"

Everyone turned to look at him. Hermione let out a small gasp as she noticed the sheathed dagger at his waist, and Draco said gleefully, "You're breaking the rules after all!"

"I'm not breaking any rules."

Draco looked to Hermione, as if she'd memorized the rulebook just because she'd known the rule about first years and brooms. To Harry's surprise, Hermione nodded. "Students are allowed to carry a blade under a foot long as long as the student is deemed competent at fighting with it. An athame doesn't fall under this rule, of course, since you wouldn't fight with one." Harry recalled that an athame was the proper name for a ritual dagger, although at home it was mostly, "Hand me that knife there," even when the thing being cut was for a spell.

A loud announcement from no visible source told them to leave their luggage behind and exit the train. Harry looked around for Helen, but didn't see her in the small compartment. He wasn't worried, though; Wayside House was an occasional home for several cats, some dumb and some talking, all of whom came and went as they pleased. Harry learned early on in life not to try to keep track of any feline animal.

They all left the train and followed the voice of an extraordinarily large man who hollered that the first years were to get in the boats, then said they could only sit four to a boat. After a moment of the five of them staring at one another, Draco dragged the lot of them over to a group of three girls. It took some staring and pointed comments from all four girls present before Draco introduced everyone in an exasperated tone.

"-Pansy Parkinson, Lisa Turpin, and Daphne Queengrass," Draco finished.

"_Green_grass," Daphne corrected icily.

"Is it?" Draco asked airily, as Harry whispered to Hermione, "Ignore them, their families don't get along." "Now, can we go?"

"Anythin' wrong?" the huge man asked as he walked over. Nearly everyone else was already on a boat.

"No problem, please stay back there without murdering anyone!" Draco called back with forced cheer. Harry rolled his eyes - just because the man was large didn't mean he actually had the blood of vicious giants in him. "Come _on_," Draco hissed to them.

"It's not worth arguing," Pansy sighed. "I'll see you two once we cross the lake. Lovely to meet you."

Harry, Hermione, Lisa, and Daphne all got in a boat together, which began moving silently across the lake when the huge man yelled, "FORWARD!" No one spoke, although Hermione seemed to lose her breath as she watched the huge castle come ever closer.

* * *

><p>Most people arrived at Wayside House in the manner that Edmund and his siblings had always seemed to find themselves in Narnia - with very little warning and a sort of blending of one world into the next. Their current guest, Mei Li, had been drowning in a lake in China and surfaced on the shore of the lake at the edge of Wayside's grounds. Harry, although he thankfully no longer remembered it, had been curled up crying in the cupboard under his birth relatives' staircase and was found in the coat closet when Susan had gone looking for her misplaced umbrella. In short, getting to Wayside House by accident was not difficult at all.<p>

Getting back on purpose was a bit more difficult. Edmund had to get lost, quite literally.

He apparated to a wooded area and wandered through the trees, not looking at anything in particular except at the ground in order to keep his footing. He tried not to use the same place too often, as once he got used to the order and pattern of trees, he couldn't get lost enough to end up home.

Within ten minutes, as usual, the trees took on a pattern Edmund recognized as belonging to home and made a sharp left. He spotted the back of Wayside House in a clearing only a few minutes later and entered through the back door. "I'm home!" he called out.

Mei poked her head into the kitchen and smiled nervously. "Welcome back, Mr. Edmund."

Edmund smiled back, trying to look as non-intimidating as possible. When Mei had arrived three months ago, she couldn't even look at a grown man without retreating mentally and accidentally breaking nearby objects with wild magical outbursts. Peter had been home for once, but he and Edmund were both made to leave for a month until Lucy found them with word that Mei had recovered enough for them to return.

"Thank you, Mei," he said gently. "Do you know where Susan is?"

"Oh, yes. No," she exclaimed, waving a hand back and forth when Edmund took a step toward the kitchen door, and consequently towards her, "I will get Ms. Susan, you can, ah, stay here." Edmund sighed and resigned himself to waiting just a bit longer before he could sit down.

The sound of rushed footsteps came to Edmund's ears before he saw his sister rush in with open arms and a wide smile. They hugged and Susan sighed contentedly. "You smell like London."

"_You_ smell like fire and bits of dead animal."

"Still?" Susan asked, dismayed. "Poor Mei, she came to speak to me in the lab earlier and got a little worked up."

"Is she well enough to stay with the Lovegoods?" Edmund questioned as he picked his bag back up and followed Susan to the living room. They settled down in their usual armchairs, of which there were four, all facing an imaginary center point so that the siblings could speak to each other easily. Lucy's was the least used - although Peter was home much less often than Lucy, Harry usually used Peter's chair, which was just next to Susan's.

"From all accounts, he's as friendly and non-intimidating a man as exists in the world. If Mei's to get used to being around the male adult population again, Xenophilius is a good man to start with. What did he say?"

They spent a few short minutes discussing the Lovegoods, Mei's possible placement there (as she certainly couldn't return to her former home in China), and Luna's condition. Edmund's report confirmed Susan's belief that Luna needed decent socialization more than she needed to return to Wayside, which was too isolated to do any good for her.

"And how's our Harry?" Susan finally asked with a fond smile.

"Managed to get into a spot of trouble, but I sent him off with a minimum of fuss and open affection."

"You know, I don't think I believe this nonsense you and Lu give about Harry shying away from hugs," she declared. "He's never once turned away from me."

"Who's going to see and embarrass him here?" Edmund countered. "He's at that age."

"That's right, you were such trouble at eleven."

"I'm _sure_ I have no idea what you mean."

"And Peter was too," Susan chuckled. "That's about when he decided he was too big to play with Lucy."

"I'd forgotten that!" exclaimed Edmund. "He said playing with babies was for girls, and you bloodied his nose."

"Excuse me, I did not!" Susan protested, laughing.

"Bet you anything Peter hasn't forgotten, even if he'd like to. When is he due back from Albania?"

"No, Albania was last month, I haven't the slightest idea where he is now. Or when he's due back," Susan added, her mood taking a downward turn.

"Cheer up, he'll visit soon."

Susan forced a smile and nodded, then turned the conversation down a different track. "Of course. How did Harry like the ring?"

* * *

><p>Harry had seen humans talk. He'd spoken to a merlady who once got lost in their lake, and a decent number of talking animals. He had never seen a hat talk.<p>

Much less _sing_.

But the Sorting Hat both sang and spoke, and apparently could read enough of a person's mind to sort them into one of Hogwarts' four houses. Vince and Greg were both sorted into Slytherin, as Draco had promised they would be. The hat stayed on Hermione for nearly a full minute, apparently discussing something with her if the quiet movement of her lips was any indication. It finally shouted out, "RAVENCLAW!" to Hermione's apparent satisfaction.

The hat yelled, "SLYTHERIN!" nearly the instant it touched Draco's hat, something he looked very smug about. The sorting continued with people Harry didn't know or only barely knew - the twin girls he'd nearly run into on the train were sorted into separate houses, and Pansy was sorted to Slytherin. After a tiny redheaded girl named Perks was sent to Hufflepuff, Professor McGonagall checked her list for the next name and called out, "Pevensie, Harry!"

He came forward and sat on the stool, and let the professor drop the hat over his head. It covered his eyes and turned the world dark, completely blocking his view of the waiting (and mostly very bored) student population.

"Looks like it would be a bit of a problem, but you're easy enough to sort, eh?" asked a small voice, right into Harry's ears. The hat was speaking to him! "Loyal enough, brave enough, and a decent mind, but it's all for a reason, isn't it?"

_I want to be_ good_ enough,_ thought Harry fiercely._ I want to be worthy of my mother, worthy enough to be a prince._

"That's the sort of ambition that gets you put right into SLYTHERIN!" The last word was yelled out to the rest of the Great Hall and earned polite applause from most of Slytherin, with more sincere applause from his friends in that house and from Hermione. There seemed to be applause coming from Hufflepuff too, so Harry looked over and saw Cedric Diggory, whom he'd met briefly on a trip with Lucy a year before. Harry left the hat behind on the stool and gave small waves towards both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw before taking a seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table.

Once he'd been seated, McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!" and the hall fell silent. She looked around for a moment, as if someone was going to pop out of the woodwork and declare himself to be Harry Potter, before shaking her head and calling next, "Thomas, Dean!"

There was a bit of a buzz as Thomas went to be sorted, but the conversation wasn't about the boy at the front of the hall.

"Harry Potter? Is he meant to be here this year?"

"No one's seen him since the attack, don't know why he'd show up now."

"Why would she bother reading the name if he wasn't on the train in the first place?"

An elbow nudged Harry in the side, and he glared at Draco. Draco looked pointedly up at the High Table where the headmaster and professors were sitting. Most of them appeared to be just as bored as the majority of the students were, aside from the talk about Harry. Harry gave them all a quick glance and then looked down the line of them one-by-one to try and figure out what Draco wanted him to see. One man looked to have dwarven blood in him - or goblin, as they were calling themselves now. Another professor looked quite young and couldn't have been far out of Hogwarts himself; he seemed to catch Harry looking and smiled, though of course he might have been smiling at anyone in that direction. Harry smiled in return on the assumption that it couldn't hurt and kept looking. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was watching Thomas hurry to the Gryfindor table with what looked like fond interest. On the other side of the headmaster, a man with a hooked nose and a sallow complexion was staring at the Slytherin table.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered.

An older girl next to Harry whispered sternly, "Hush, and I'll tell you after Dumbledore's given us his usual."

A few more children were sorted, the last being Blaise Zabini, who took up a spot with Slytherin. Dumbledore gave what was apparently his 'usual' - welcome and a bit of nonsense - and food appeared on the tables.

The food looked fantastic and Harry began helping himself to a bit of everything. Draco looked at the plates askance. "We have to serve ourselves?" he asked doubtfully.

"That or starve," said the girl next to Harry, looking a great deal more cheerful as she loaded up her plate. "'Allo Baron, I've got these two," she told a ghost who came floating by. "Now, down our great long line of professors, you only need to know a few this year. We've got what we call the 'lead' professors who teach you tiny firsties, the OWL years, and anyone going after their NEWTS, we've got 'tail' professors who teach the second through fourth year main subjects, and then the 'elective' professors who you won't need to worry about at all until third year. Eat up, you could use some fattening!" she told Draco happily. "Your face is a bit pointy, might do good to fill it up."

"Oi!"

"Don't 'oi' me, I'm a prefect," she told him. "Gemma Farley. You two eat, I'll talk." Gemma took small bites of her food during pauses in her speech and managed to never talk with food in her mouth while also keeping up a steady stream of information. "Look where I'm pointing, yeah?" she said before briefing them on each professor they'd be having classes with that year, finishing up with, "And then we have our illustrious Professor Snape, Head for Slytherin, teaches potions and keeps us all in line. He'll also do your etiquette classes."

"I don't need etiquette classes," Draco said snobbily, and continued right over Harry saying flatly, "That's a lie if I've ever heard one." "My mother and father have taken care of my basic education."

"Then he'll let you test out, won't he?"

Draco eyed Gemma and said cautiously, "I don't think I like you."

"Liking's not needed so long as you listen and obey," she said, pleasant attitude never breaking, though she twirled her fork and knife in a way that Harry found a bit menacing.

"Merlin, Gems, where do you put all that?" a boy across the table asked wonderingly. Somehow, Gemma had already managed to clear her plate and was starting on seconds. "Hollow leg?"

Harry turned back to Draco as Gemma started in with the boy who'd spoken. "I like Slytherin," he decided aloud.

"_You_ like Slytherin," Draco grumbled. "I thought everyone would be a little more... I don't know..."

"Posh?" suggested Harry.

"Upper class."

"You'd hate upper class after a week," Harry told him. "A few days of wandering around like you own the place, then you'd give up on manners and hate everyone for snubbing you or correcting you."

Draco's internal struggle was visible on his face. He eventually said, when Harry was nearly done eating, "She did keep that ghost from sitting with us."

Harry, who knew Draco hated giving in and hated ghosts even more, smiled and rolled his eyes. "That she did."

After pudding, Dumbledore gave a few announcements, just to forbid anyone from going into the Forbidden Forest ("That only makes me want to go in," Draco whispered, unknowingly proving Lucy right about the name,) and to let them all know that magic wasn't to be used in the hallways and quidditch trials would be the next week. Then he made them all sing the school song - the Slytherins covered their ears as one but joined in all the same - and sent the students off to bed.

Gemma stood up like a shot and raised her hand. "First Year Slytherins, follow me! Come on, first years- and where are _you_ going, young man?"

"Come on Farley, I'm a second year now," the boy in question complained.

"Are you sure? You certainly didn't grow over the summer, you're short enough to still be- no look, I'm just messing about, go on."

There were roughly twenty first years gathered around Gemma by the time she was sure she had everyone, and they cut a swift line through the crowd and out into the castle hallway. Once free of the crowds, Gemma walked them on a leisurely, downward path, pointing out which staircases would move and when, which classrooms they passed that had a tendency to move around, and introduced them to a few of the many portraits they passed. She paused at a stretch of bare stone wall and waited as the group came to a stop. "This is the entrance to our common room," she told them, "though there's a few passages around that lead to the different rooms, if you can find them. There has not been an intruder in our dungeons for over seven hundred years, and if I find out one of you has given away our password and let someone in, I will have you drawn and quartered. Is that clear?" When silence was the only response, she snapped, "Say, 'Yes, Farley.'"

"Yes, Farley," they all replied dutifully. Harry was a bit concerned about how suddenly her mood had changed. She went back to cheerful as easily as she started hissing at them. "_Solidarity__,_" she told the wall, which opened up to let all of them through.

The common room was like nothing Harry had ever seen. Though they were underground, there were giant windows that showed only a bleak darkness. Lamps of green flame hung from the ceiling, throwing everything they touched into an eerie light, except for the area around the fireplace which glowed with the normal fire's warm light. A few Slytherins were already sitting around on the couches and high-backed chairs. One girl was sitting on top of a bookcase, fitting snugly between the top shelf and the ceiling, although Harry had no idea how she could have gotten there.

Gemma led them through the room, waving at the girl on the bookshelf, and into a smaller room that was round and had sofas running all along the wall except where the doorway was. Gemma was having them all sit down just as Professor Snape walked in.

"I am Professor Snape," he told them. "Good evening." He paused, and a few of the children responded, "Good evening," their voices staggered against each other. "_Good__evening_," he repeated, more severely, and this time every single person gave the greeting back.

Snape looked satisfied. "I have it from here, Miss Farley. Please see me before breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, professor," Gemma said meekly. She closed the door after exiting the room.

Snape turned his attention back to his first years. "Well done," he said. It didn't matter that his voice was quiet, it still commanded attention. No child so much as shuffled in their seat while he spoke. "I congratulate you on being sorted into Slytherin house. No matter whether you thought you would end up in a different house or intended to come here, no matter your blood status or family wealth, you are Slytherin. We may have disagreements or differences in opinion, but we will always keep those quiet, and in-house. To the rest of Hogwarts, Slytherin is one."

He turned to look at every student, one at a time, just as Harry had stared at the professors earlier. Harry didn't move under Snape's gaze, and didn't look him in the eye. It would have seemed disrespectful to do so, somehow.

Eventually, Snape continued, "The password for the common room entrance is posted on the notice board and changes every fortnight. You are to never let someone from another house into the Slytherin rooms. I have given the responsibility of all of you to Miss Farley, so that if you break one of the rules specific to Slytherin, she will be punished. In turn, Miss Farley will the one to punish the rule breaker. I have no doubt that her ire will be great if one of you forces me to tarnish her perfect disciplinary record."

_So __that__'__s __why __she __was __so __severe__,_ Harry thought. _Being __prefect __comes __with __its __own __problems__, __I __guess__._

"If you are given any trouble from other students, or if you are singled out negatively by a teacher, you may come to Miss Farley, her companion prefect Mr. Harrison Nash, or myself. The prefects in the upper years will listen to your problems, but as they have been put in charge of previous classes of first years, they will likely only redirect you to Miss Farley or Mr. Nash. Are there any questions?"

Pansy raised a hand, and Snape nodded towards her. "When will we be given our schedules, sir, and how are we to find our way to class?"

"Miss Farley and Mr. Nash will be handing out your schedules tomorrow at breakfast and have been given leave to enter their classes late and leave early for the first week in order to escort you. After that, one hopes you have remembered your way. Anything else?" When no one else moved, Snape opened the door and gestured out. "To bed, then. Mr. Pevensie, a word?"

Harry stood but stayed in the room as the others left. Draco remained by his side. Vince and Greg looked like they were going to stay too, but Draco waved them out impatiently. Snape raised an eyebrow at Draco but said nothing in favor of asking Harry, "Your pardon, Mr. Pevensie. I did not think I was acquainted with your family, but you look quite familiar. Is it possible I know your parents?"

Harry fidgeted and looked at Snape's nose, which was easily the most prominent thing on the man's face. "I don't think so, sir. I don't have a father, and my mother never leaves our home. I'm told that I favor her strongly, so..."

"Do not let your sentences trail, it makes you appear indecisive," Snape corrected him, although the admonishment sounded automatic and he looked to be a bit distracted. "It's the shape of eyes that I recognise, I believe."

"You might know his uncle, sir," Draco chimed in. "Edmund Pevensie? He visits my parents regularly, maybe you've seen him at the manor."

"That may be so. Thank you for your indulgence, Mr. Pevensie. You may go to your rooms."

"Not a problem, sir, thank you," Harry said quickly. He rushed out, not bothering to wait for Draco, who was taking a more leisurely pace.

They had to ask directions from another student to find the rooms for the first years, which were seven flights up a staircase. Finally at the top of the stairs, Harry had to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that even though they'd been walking upward, he and Draco were actually further underground than they'd been in the common room.

The first room Harry poked his head into had his trunk at the foot of a bed, and he was thankful to see his cat settled comfortably atop the pillow. "Cat's on your bed," Vince grunted unnecessarily as he unpacked.

"Of course she is, she's the brightest cat in the world," declared Harry. Draco followed him inside with a whisper of, "Try not to act so fishy in front of someone who probably went to school with your birth parents, yeah?" before going to his own bed.

"You're very comforting, Draco," Harry said with a scowl.

"Do you think so?" asked Greg. "I've never found him to be comforting at all."

Now Draco was the one scowling. "Shut it, Greg."

"All of you, shut it," said the boy in the very last bed. It took Harry a second to recognize him as the very last person to be sorted, Blaise Something. "Go to sleep."

Harry _was_ quite tired. He got ready for bed without properly unpacking his trunk, moved a protesting Helen off his pillow and onto the foot of the bed, and climbed under the covers. Already-dim lights surrounding the massive beds extinguished themselves as each boy settled under their blankets, and in the steadily darkening room, Harry fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes: As far as I'm concerned, it's impossible for the number of professors who teach the core, seven year classes to actually teach that many classes in only four blocks a day. Even if they could - I have a math proof, I could post it somewhere if you're really desperate to see it - that's way too many classes to teach at once AND be head of house AND in McGonagall's case be deputy headmistress AND wander the halls to catch students out after curfew, which Snape and Lupin seem to do as a hobby or a plot device or something. In response, I've created a series of Excel sheets for myself that detail the teaching schedules, where the professors we're used to teach the first years and the NEWT classes, and there are secondary professors for the other years.<p>

I've also added in a few other random classes the students can take, like etiquette. Whatever, this is an AU.

As always, thank you for your feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: As you may be able to tell, I gave up on matching the original Hogwarts classes altogether. I had forgotten that Gryffindors didn't actually share all their classes with Slytherins and looked over the schedule I made, and... decided I didn't really want to make any more changes.

Also, and I can't swear to this, I think JKR once said a thousand students attended Hogwarts? But if you look at who actually gets named in Harry's year, there's somewhere between 30-40 people in one class, which, if it can be considered an average class size, only leads to a total student population of 210-280. I've arbitrarily decided that there are roughly 80 students per year through the graduating class after Harry's, for a general school size of 560 students if you pretend no one ever drops out after their OWLs. The class sizes will start to go up after that, representing a post-war baby boom.

As always, I thank everyone who's been reading this from the bottom of my heart. The positive feedback has been wonderful. I'm sorry the plot is moving so slowly, but it should pick up after I finish the first week of classes.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**Three**

* * *

><p>Finding the Library of Pergamum, kept secret from muggles by witches and wizards for over two thousand years, wasn't actually that difficult. It was the fact that Peter had to use magic to do it that made him stall for a full week, milling around in the nearby city of Bergama until he finally gave in and apparated to the outside of the library.<p>

The magic on Earth was different and separate from the magic of Narnia because the worlds themselves were so different; Narnian magic came from the Deep Magic, through laws instilled by the Emperor-Over-The-Sea and Aslan when the world was created. Earth magic... well, it just wasn't Narnian.

_Peter_was Narnian, that was the problem. It didn't matter that he'd been raised on Earth, his heart and soul were Narnian. If Susan had only just _believed_ and come with them on that train ride, none of his siblings would be here. They'd all four be living happily in Aslan's Country, the true Narnia, facing whatever challenges and discoveries they could find.

Peter sighed. _And__then__where__would__Harry__be__? __Still__sleeping__in__a__cupboard__, __barely__fed__and__overworked__?_ Peter loved his nephew dearly, even if they only saw each other a few times a year when he visited Wayside or Lucy made a concentrated effort to find and meet up with him while bringing Harry along. He was a good boy with a lot of heart, and he'd been raised to carry a deep and abiding love of Aslan, even though the boy had never seen the great lion who had given the Pevensie siblings so much.

He shook his head to clear it of melancholy thoughts and tucked his wand into its holster, the same kind he'd bought Harry for his birthday the year before. The Library of Pergamum was the world's oldest public wizarding library in existence, located in Turkey but easily accessible from anywhere in the world by floo. Peter preferred to travel by muggle means when he could and had gotten as far as the nearest city before the library's rather strong wards kept him from getting any closer on foot.

The front room of the library was tiny, holding only a librarian and his desk to the side and a door at the other end. Peter surrendered his wand to the librarian, who silently logged his entry and waved him onward.

On the other side of the door was a gigantic room, holding shelves filled with books as far as Peter could see in any direction. To his left and right were staircases which led to upper floors that threatened to touch heaven, and directly before him was a statue of Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom and, among other things, war carried out for a just cause.

Peter bowed respectfully before Athena's statue. "Lady Athena," he said, his voice quiet and muffled by the hushing spells in place in the building, "I am not one of your followers. But as this is your place of learning and I seek to prevent a war caused by greed and hatred, I would not dismiss any blessing you might offer me."

There was no response; Peter couldn't tell if he had been answered or even heard. Like Aslan, the gods of Earth did not always appear just because someone had spoken to them. Still, it never hurt to be respectful.

_Now__,_ Peter thought as he turned to find a book catalog, _let __me __see __what __I __can __find __out __about __horcruxes__._

* * *

><p>Soft paws kneaded at Harry's stomach. He reached a hand forward, a half-hearted swat turning into a long stroke of his cat's fur. Sighing, Harry sat up, dislodging a displeased Helen from her spot on his stomach, and looked around. The room was dim, although the lights surrounding his bed seemed to have noted that he woke up and brightened to a level that would help him see without waking up the other boys. Everyone else was still asleep.<p>

He nearly tripped over Peter's old trunk while stumbling to the bathroom, then had to return to it to gather the toiletries that he hadn't unpacked the night before. It was too soon to need to dye his roots again and the blue contact lenses that Edmund had given him were safe to sleep in, so all Harry had to do was touch up the makeup over his scar and reapply the charm on it. His disguise safely in place, Harry continued on with the things every other person did after waking up before taking a shower.

Blaise moved past Harry into the bathroom as he left. The bedroom was brightly lit, now that everyone had woken up, although Draco seemed to be trying to avoid getting out of bed for as long as he could by burrowing under his covers. Without knowing what the other students would be wearing and figuring it couldn't hurt to make a good impression, Harry dressed as nicely as he could without looking extravagant - black slacks, a white dress shirt with a grey waistcoat over it, and a silver tie pin in the shape of a crown to keep his Slytherin necktie from flying about. Over it all but left open was his school robe, which nearly defeated the purpose of looking nice since it was of a material that was meant to be sturdy rather than flashy. Harry briefly considered changing into something more casual underneath when Blaise rushed back out of the bathroom, dressed just as smartly as Harry was. "I'm leaving for breakfast," he told them bluntly. "Anyone else?"

Harry looked over at Draco, who was only just starting to fumble his way out of bed, then up at Vince, who nodded. "I'm ready," Harry told Blaise as he attached his wand to his holster and grabbed his bag.

"Excellent. Let's see who else is."

Two other first year Slytherins were waiting in the hall, a boy from the other boys' room on the floor and a girl whose name Harry didn't know. The girl was dressed impeccably while the boy had clothes of excellent quality that he wore sloppily; Harry shook his head and tried to stop worrying about what he was wearing.

The girl silently allowed Blaise to take her hand and lead her down the staircase (which Harry still thought led upward, regardless of what it looked like). The other boy walked more slowly next to Harry as Blaise and the girl gained ground ahead of them. Harry introduced himself as they walked down the steps.

"I'm Theodore Nott, but Theo's fine," the boy said. "Did Blaise even bother telling you his name?"

"No, I just remembered it from the sorting."

Theo nodded languidly. "Well, he's Blaise Zabini, and the girl he's pulling along is Tracey Davis, my cousin. They're engaged."

"Do they do the... running off thing a lot?"

Theo shrugged, his shoulders appearing bony even though his shirt and robes. "Tracey doesn't like making decisions, and Blaise likes to do everything immediately. They're well suited."

Walking downstairs, regardless of which direction they were actually going in, was much easier than going up seven flights had been the night before. The common room was buzzing with sleepy children and a few awed first years, all lit by a wavering green light that was different from the steady illumination of the lamps the night before. Harry looked up over at the dark glass wall and nearly stopped in his tracks.

The window, which took up an entire wide wall of the common room, showed them the depths of Hogwarts Lake. It had been dark the night before because the moonlight couldn't penetrate the water that deep, but with the sun in the sky far above, light shone through the window and lit the whole room in a beautiful shade of green. In the lake, Harry could see murky objects moving in the distance and a school of fish passing by quite close to the window pane. Something a bit paler than the green light swam deftly into view and grabbed two fish from the small group before the rest of them scattered. "What's that?" one of the first years near the door gasped.

"Grindylow," said an older boy standing with the group. "The two of you over there make ten and eleven, so let's get a move on."

"What about everyone else?" asked a tall, stocky girl.

"Gems- ah, you lot met Gemma Farley, the other prefect? She'll take them. Come on, I've got to eat before practice, can't wait around all day."

Harrison Nash was a weedy boy, thin and tall the way boys sometimes were after dramatic growth spurts. Once they reached the Great Hall, he left them at the Slytherin table where there were large platters of with heaps of eggs, toast, sausages, and bacon spelled to stay warm and fresh for the duration of breakfast. As Harry sat down, a plate and silverware appeared in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. By the time he'd filled up his plate with roughly the right amount of food, Harrison had left for the High Table and returned. "Here's your schedules," he told them, setting a stack down by Harry. "Hand those out for me? Fantastic," Harrison said without pause as he grabbed a small stack of toast. "I'll see you lot after Quirrell's done with you."

"Not very prefectly," Theo noticed as Harry flipped through the short stack of papers to find his schedule.

"They're going to be all the same," Blaise said impatiently. "Just take one and pass on the rest." Harry ignored him and found the parchment with his name on it before he handed the remaining schedules to Theo, ignoring Blaise's outstretched hand.

Draco and the rest of the students showed up half an hour later, led by Gemma, just as Harry was finishing up his breakfast. Draco sat next to Harry and switched out the milk that appeared next to his plate for Harry's untouched orange juice. Harry downed the glass almost immediately, grateful for something to drink. "What's our first class?" Draco asked.

"Um," said Harry as he fumbled for his schedule. His bag had an expansion charm on it, so he had to dig around a bit to find the loose sheet of paper. "There! Herbology. Followed by history slash astronomy - how does that work? - and then flying lessons after lunch. And it looks like we share all of our classes with the Gryffindors."

"Ugh. Well, I suppose we'll look even better in comparison. I wonder if we can test out of flying less- no wait, that's probably the only time we'll get a chance to go flying."

"Why don't we ever have classes with Ravenclaws? Or even Hufflepuffs?"

"Why do you care?" Draco drawled as he started in on a toast and egg sandwich.

"I wouldn't mind having a class with Hermione."

"Her- oh, Granger." Draco twisted around to look at the Ravenclaw table, which was right next to theirs, and Harry turned to follow where he was looking. Hermione's bushy brown hair was easy enough to spot. Harry couldn't see her face very well, but it looked like the people around her were carrying on a lively conversation. "Worry about making friends in-house before you start making connections in the other ones."

"It's not about _connections_, I just want to make sure she's doing all right." It was the sort of thing his mum would want him to do, although Harry didn't say that out loud.

"Do you _like_ her?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed with a scowl. He turned around and thumped Draco on the arm. "What's wrong with you?"

"Ow! Hey, aren't you two supposed to stop that kind of thing from happening to me?" Draco demanded of Vince and Greg, who were sitting across from them. Vince either ignored him or didn't hear at all as he shoveled food into his mouth. Greg shrugged but gave Harry a discrete thumbs-up when Draco made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

Gemma led the Slytherin first years from the Great Hall to the Herbology greenhouse the same way she had led them to the common room the night before, pointing out landmarks and changing staircases they would need to be wary of, and took off the moment they'd been delivered with a promise to see them after lunch. Professor Sprout smiled from her position over the plant she was caring for when she saw them enter and waved them in. "Don't be shy!" she called out from further into the greenhouse. "Come on in!"

The greenhouse held a great deal of plants, most of which Harry didn't recognize. His mother had proclaimed him to have a 'black thumb' at any early age and wouldn't let him anywhere near Wayside House's garden, where they grew magical plants for potions and more mundane ones to eat with their food.

The Slytherins all moved to stand behind one of two long tables. There were no chairs, so the children fidgeted in place or leaned on the table. When the first Gryffindor walked in, the majority of the Slytherins stood as straight and solid as if the Minister of Magic were looking at them, and the rest followed suit quickly. The Gryffindor who had come in, a short boy with a nervous demeanor, looked at the twenty-one students wearing green and silver and blanched. "Am I- am I late?" he managed to ask, catching the professor's attention.

"Not at all, Slytherins are just nearly always early," Sprout comforted him. "Over behind the other table, dear, I'm sure your housemates will be along shortly."

The boy did as he was told and brightened upon seeing the plant that Sprout was working on. "Oh, is that a venus mantrap?"

"Suck up," Draco muttered.

"Oh dear," Daphne murmured, her voice so low that Harry could barely hear it although he was just on Draco's other side. "Jealous of a Gryffindor? Or maybe just upset that he knew something that you didn't."

"Don't be surprised to find your bed full of frogs one night, Queengrass," Draco warned her in a low tone, his fingers twitching near the wand he carried in a holster by his waist.

Daphne chose to ignore the insult to her name - which Harry frankly didn't get, as he couldn't see how it was meant to be insulting - and instead said, "All talk, no action."

Draco's face twisted up into an angry sneer that smoothed immediately when Pansy hissed, "Hush, both of you!" A moment later, Professor Sprout looked over from her conversation with the Gryffindor boy; she only saw the Slytherins engaged in quiet conversations and turned back.

Harry decided to distract Draco from his feud with Daphne and started talking to him about broom models, an old favorite topic of theirs. Gryffindors continued to trickle in at a slow rate, but there were only ten of them in the greenhouse by the time the bells rang to signal the beginning of the first block of classes.

Everyone turned to Professor Sprout once the bells quieted and allowed them to speak again. "Just a few more minutes," she told them. "I give a bit of a grace period during the first week of classes, since none of you know the school yet. Mind you don't take advantage!"

After five minutes, Professor Sprout began the class and only admonished the children who arrived late. She spent the time telling them about her grading policy and handing out syllabi that were smudged with her dirty fingerprints. Draco handled the piece of parchment with a disgusted look while Harry looked over his and slid it into his herbology book. The dirty parts were only actual dirt and soil, after all.

The Gryffindors scattered quickly once the lesson was over, while the Slytherins grouped together outside of the greenhouse and waited for a prefect to guide them to their next class. When no one arrived after ten minutes, Blaise asked loudly to be heard over the group, "Was it Farley or Nash that was supposed to come get us?"

"It was Nash, wasn't it?" one of the girls called out. "Farley said she'd see us after lunch."

Harry had a terrible feeling as he spoke up, "Yeah, but didn't Nash say he'd be picking us up from Professor Quirrell's?"

There were a few seconds of silence before chatter broke out. "Which one's Quirrell?" "Isn't he the Defense teacher?" "I thought we didn't have Defense until tomorrow!" "Snape's going to murder someone, and it had better not be me."

Harry thought about going back into the greenhouse when he spotted a familiar head of ridiculous hair coming towards them, dressed in a black robe with a blue and silver badge and necktie. "Hermione!" He walked quickly towards her, and she sped up a bit once she saw him. "Hey, did you just have history? Or astronomy, or whatever it's meant to be?"

"It's history one week and then astronomy the next, Professor Selwyn will explain it to you," Hermione told him. "How was herbology?"

"Fine, listen - the prefect who was meant to take us there has buggered off- swanned off," he corrected himself when he saw Hermione's offended expression, "sorry. But we don't know how to get there, and Professor Snape will get upset if we're late."

"And he'll take it out on Farley, who will take it out on us," concluded Draco, who had walked over. "Hello, Granger."

"Malfoy," Hermione said, giving him a friendly nod. "It's pretty easy, but you should hurry - just go in that entrance there and follow the left wall. It's at the top of the third staircase, on your left. If you hit a balcony along the wall, just wait a minute for the stairs to move towards you."

"Thanks, I owe you - guys, this way! I got directions!"

They weren't the first to arrive but they certainly weren't the last. The moving staircase confused most of the Gryffindors and students were still finding the classroom half an hour after the class bells rang. Professor Selwyn was perfectly unaffected and didn't even bother trying to talk about what they'd be doing during the year.

"Just be here on time Wednesday, aye?" she told one of the late students cheerfully. "What's your name, so I can mark you as present?"

"Lavender Brown," said the straggler, nearly falling into one of the desk chairs. "I'm really sorry, professor. I swear I was asking the portraits for help, but they kept sending me to a room with this ghost who kept talking about goblins, and I finally found a prefect who sent me the right way."

"You met old Binns!" exclaimed Selwyn delightedly. "Is he really still trying to teach? He was the history professor until a few years back."

"When he died?" Miles, one of the Slytherins, asked tactlessly.

"No no, he died decades ago," Selwyn assured him. Miles did not look reassured. "A few years ago the school found the budget to hire on a professor who was actually alive and would want their salary. Any of the fourth years and older can talk to you about Binns, if you really want to know. Goodness, I think he's taught every single professor."

Near the end of the class, Selwyn explained that they would have astronomy during that particular time next week, and history again the week after that. "I'll assign a few chapters of reading on Friday and quiz you the Monday you're back with me. Yes yes, don't groan like that, you sound ridiculous. It's only a bit of reading. Wait until a day or two before the class so you don't forget it all."

Afterwards, they were left to do as they liked or find their way to the Great Hall for lunch since their third class didn't start for another hour. The Gryffindors scattered into pairs or threes while the Slytherins stuck together to try to find the Great Hall, save for Blaise, who needed something from his room, and Tracey, who apparently never left Blaise's side if the two of them could help it.

With the help of a few portraits, they found the Great Hall fairly easily. The first years scattered up and down the Slytherin table to sit with family or friends in the upper years; Draco, Harry, Vince, and Greg all sat together in a small cluster on the far end of the table. Harry spotted Hermione as he walked down the length of the table and would have waved, but she was sitting alone and seemed deeply involved in a rather large book.

Their third class block was taken up by flying lessons. It was the easiest class to locate by far, since it took place on the quidditch pitch and all they had to do was head toward the towering spectator stands and the huge goal hoops. The Gryffindor boy who had shown up early for Herbology class, whose name Harry never caught, was standing by himself on the pitch despite the fact that there were several small groupings of Gyffindors dotted around him. He was staring at a small red orb despairingly as Harry and his friends approached, moaning, "What did I forget _this_ time?"

"Really, Longbottom," Draco sneered, "a _remembrall__?_" Longbottom glanced up at Draco, startled and slightly afraid, before tucking the red, glass ball into the pocket of his robe. Harry thought he glimpsed its color change to white in the moment between leaving Longbottom's fingers and slipping into the pocket.

"What's a remembrall?" Harry asked as they reached Pansy and her female friends.

"Tells you that you've forgotten something by turning red," Pansy told him. "It doesn't say what you're forgotten, though, so they're a bit useless. I am not looking forward to this class in the _least_."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. "I love flying."

"Sitting astride is impossible with a skirt," said Daphne. "And if you want a broom with the charms to keep you on while sitting side saddle, you have to have it custom ordered."

"I suppose expense might-" Draco started, but Pansy interrupted him to hiss, "I swear to _Merlin_, Draco Narcissus Malfoy, if you get us in trouble for not showing a united front, _I __will __write __to __your __mother_."

Draco's face flashed a wounded expression before he covered it up with a sneer. "I suppose I'll just stick to picking at Gryffindors instead."

"You go right ahead."

"_Fine_," Draco snapped. He folded his arms across his chest and took a few very long strides away to join in on a conversation between Millicent Bulstrode, Miles Bletchley, and Psyche Clearwater.

Harry debated following his friend as Vince and Greg had, but stayed with the girls in order to ask Daphne, "I'm sorry if this is rude, but what's Draco's problem with you?"

"It _is_ rude."

"Daphne!" Daphne sent Pansy a mulish glare. "If you don't tell him your side of the story, he's only ever going to hear _Draco__'__s_ side."

Daphne watched Pansy for another silent moment before sighing explosively. "Fine! But it's not my side of the story, it's what actually happened. _Not_ that it's any of your business."

Harry nodded, almost sorry that he had asked.

Daphne brushed her palms down her robes to make sure the cloth swept down in a clean line before looking up at Harry again. She spoke quietly, her calm voice a complete contrast for her earlier anger. "When I was three years old," she began, "my family and the Malfoys arranged a marriage between myself and Draco. We got along back then, as well as you can when you're only three. My mother and Draco's mother, Narcissa, are very good friends, and we saw each other quite often.

"Around my ninth birthday, my father, who is England's ambassador to Spain, recieved a proposal to marry me to the third prince of Spain's royal family when I became of age. He broke off my contract with the Malfoys entirely in favor of this new one, which upset Draco's father. Our mothers tried to keep our families connected by forming a new contract between Draco and my younger sister Astoria, but Lucius continues to turn it down."

That at least explained why Draco kept putting the word 'queen' in her name. "I'm sure Draco would have understood if you'd explained the situation to him. Why's he upset with _you_?"

Daphne scowled and looked away; Pansy sighed and said, "This part, I was there for. Our parents had set up a playdate with us and some of the other children, and when Draco arrived, he came stomping in with his usual... _theatrics_," Harry nodded to show that he completely understood, "ranting about how Daphne had betrayed him. And of course that upset Daphne-"

"Naturally," Daphne inserted.

Pansy nodded at her friend. "Naturally. And they just haven't been on good terms since," she finished.

"Hello, children," someone called out. The Slytherins immediately quieted as a teacher walked up carrying a bag on her bag that held several dozen brooms; the Gryffindors took a little longer to shut up and most had to stand from where they'd been sitting on the grass. "I'm your instructor, Professor Hooch," the woman said. She had pointed features and quick eyes that reminded Harry of a predatory bird. "Each of you come get a broom. Come on, I don't have all day. Once you have one, line up side by side and place it on the ground in front of you, like so. Don't bother trying to find the best one," she told Blaise, who had arrived with Tracey just in time for the beginning of class and now picked through the brooms with a discerning eye. "They're school brooms, they're all equally terrible. Those of you in skirts can sit today's flying out, but pay attention to today's class and come in trousers next time."

The class then proceeded to go through the same basic beginner exercises that Susan had taught Harry when he was seven. Harry's broom snapped up into his hand when he called it and he mounted it easily. All the boys and the five girls who had thought to wear trousers to the lesson were soon on their brooms, and in one boy's case, floating slowly up toward the sky.

"I can't control it!" Longbottom called out to Hooch, frightened.

"Oh, Merlin," she muttered, and mounted her own broom to go bring him down. Unfortunately, Longbottom panicked, flailed, and fell of his broom before she could reach him, hitting the ground with a sharp crack that cut through the quiet laughter and mockery. The broom continued on its own slow journey upward and onward, out to the Forbidden Forest. Hooch rushed over to Longbottom's side, declared that he had a broken wrist, and warned them all not to do any flying before she helped him onto her own broom and flew Longbottom back to the school.

Harry started walking to Draco to ask him for his own side of Daphne's story when Draco's eyes alit and the blonde boy jogged off toward something that glinted in the grass. Harry paused, unsure of whether he should follow, when Draco scooped up the item and held it up. "Longbottom's remembrall!" he declared nastily. Harry recognized the tone from several times when he or one of Draco's parents upset his easily injured pride. That tone of voice had always preceded something breaking or a verbal lashing out at Harry where Draco said spiteful things that he never really meant. "What do you think?" he asked the Slytherin side. "Should I toss it in the lake? Leave it up a tree?"

Most of the Slytherins froze indecisively. Snape's warning about 'Slytherin is one' had been short but memorable, and no one wanted to disagree with Draco when he was making a public scene. At the same time, no one wanted to get punished either. From behind, Harry heard an unladylike snort that he thought might have belonged to Daphne and heard Pansy curse very quietly, "Oh, god of muggles, what is he doing?"

"You stop that right now, Malfoy!" shouted a redheaded Gryffindor boy.

"Or what?" Draco responded. "You'll throw your secondhand robe at me?" That was fairly standard for one of Draco's insults - his words weren't particularly well chosen, but the point he'd decided to make fun of was spot on. The Gryffindor boy's face turned nearly the same color as his hair. Seeing that he'd scored, Draco continued, "Actually, that sounds terrifying - who knows where that robe has been?"

Harry's instincts - the same ones Susan had berated him for not keeping in control, saying that they would make him into a well-loved martyr but a dead man all the same - took over and made Harry break into a sprint. He ran between the two boys and flung his arms out, facing the redhead. Harry glimpsed Draco before he turned and saw that he was surprised but lowering his wand, unlike the redhead, who didn't seem to care which Slytherin ended up being his target. The redhead began to yell, "Conf-"

"MISTER WEASLEY!" a woman shrieked.

Everyone turned to face the source of the voice, including Harry. Professor McGonagall was running toward them and looked angry enough to spit. "I don't know what spell you were about to cast, and I suspect that I don't want to!" she said fiercely as she finished her approach at a brisk walk. "Even the least of the spells starting with that syllable is enough to have you in detention, and that is where you'll be tonight, with Mr. Filch!"

"But Malfoy-" Weasley started.

"I don't care for your excuses, young man! Five points from Gryffindor! And as for the rest of you!" Slytherin and Gryffindor alike watched the professor warily. "A point each from every Gryffindor for not stopping your housemate." McGonagall continued over their groans and protests. "When Madam Hooch asked me to watch over her class while she took Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing, I most certainly wasn't expecting any of this. I'm ashamed of all of you."

She turned to Harry, who was still in front of Draco. "Mr.- I'm afraid I can't recall your family name."

"Pevensie, ma'am," said Harry. He hoped she hadn't been speaking to Draco for several reasons, not the least of which was that Draco always took it poorly when people didn't know he was a Malfoy.

"Mr. Pevensie, five points to Slytherin for defending a fellow housemate." Even though she was awarding points, her voice was severe and she looked past Harry sharply. Harry thanked her anyway.

Hooch returned shortly and thanked McGonagall, who explained what had happened. Hooch nearly forbade Weasley from participating in the class, but McGonagall said he'd been punished enough. Hooch started the class up again with a sharp call to, "Line back up now, quickly!" as McGonagall left for the castle.

The class was nothing Harry hadn't done before on the grounds of Wayside House or playing around with Draco at Malfoy Manor, but it was still good to be on a broom, in the air. Harry obligingly performed the easy maneuvers that Hooch demonstrated for them and yearned for the races, obstacle courses, and mock quidditch matches that she promised them they would be doing later in the year.

None of the first years had a class in their fourth block except on Fridays, so Harry decided to try and find Hermione and see how she was settling in. He'd planned on seperating from his friends on the assumption that none of them cared much about a girl they'd barely met, but Draco surprised him by deciding to come along. Vince and Greg declined and sat right down in the grass to play with a set of gobstones that Greg had been keeping in his pocket.

"I bet she's in the library, she loves books," Harry told Draco as they re-entered the castle.

"She might be in the Ravenclaw rooms, we as may as well ask - oi, Li, is it?" Draco called over to a small, Asian girl in Ravenclaw blue and silver who had been walking by.

"Yes?" she asked timidly, not coming any closer to the two boys.

"Don't suppose you know where Granger is?" At her blank look, Draco continued, "First year, Ravenclaw, bushy hair, ridiculous teeth?" Harry rolled his eyes. "She's sort of hard to miss."

"Oh. Um, she went to... the library?" Li twitched a hand in the direction she'd just come from.

"Makes sense," said Harry before Draco could respond. "Thank you." Li nodded and scurried off down the hall.

Harry looked to Draco as they walked. "You _definitely_ need those etiquette classes."

"I do not," Draco protested. "I just didn't have any particular reason to be polite, she's something like sixtieth down in line to taking over the Li family."

"You could be nice on the basis that we'll be in the same school together for seven years."

"Can't be bothered. Anyway, she seems like the type that's more likely to be scared of me than angry."

Harry could have continued, but it usually wasn't worth it to argue with Draco over small things. He gave up.

They found the library after asking directions from an upper year Gryffindor several hallways down, who looked at them suspiciously but told them where it was. They spotted Hermione as soon as they walked in and went to her.

Hermione didn't notice either of them until they sat down, when she looked up with startled eyes before smiling broadly at them. "Hello!" she said happily, if quietly. "Did you have any trouble getting to Professor Selwyn's classroom? Oh, but keep your voices down, Madame Pince hexed the last person who was noisy and tossed him right out."

"Your directions were great, thanks again."

Draco stole Hermione's book and slid it across the table so that he could look at it. Hermione grabbed for it too late but seemed hesitant to reach across the table to take it back. "'An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms.' Granger, why are you reading this? None of us have even had a Charms class yet."

"Professor Flitwick referees spelling bees every Friday between fourth block and dinner. With actual spells, of course, not with..." Hermione trailed off for a moment, probably realizing she shouldn't talk about muggle spelling bees, and continued with, "Well, anyway, I'm having trouble talking to people in my house, so I thought winning might make people come to me for help with things, and I can use those interactions to make friends. I wrote it all out," she said eagerly, opening a roll of parchment and sliding it in front of Harry.

Harry studied the list with a mix of confusion and amusement. There was a timetable involved.

"You don't make friends by being better than everyone else," Draco said, his tone carrying the weight of countless Malfoy generations. "That's how you get followers." Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and opened her mouth to speak, but Draco continued, "Not to say followers are worse than friends, they're generally better. A man in power should have few friends and countless followers, Father says."

"I don't _want_ followers." Hermione didn't look to know whether or not she should be taking Draco seriously.

"Well, no one wants friends who are better at everything. You'd be better off throwing the match if that's your goal."

"Fail on _purpose__!_" said Hermione, horrified but still hushed.

"This is frightening and should be burned," Harry said, handing the parchment back to Hermione. "Look, if you can't make friends in Ravenclaw, you can always spend time with us."

"Could we have a study group?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"No," said Draco, just as Harry said, "Yes." They stared at each other briefly; when they broke gazes, Draco rolled his eyes and Harry told Hermione, "We'll get back to you on that."

"You don't _have_ to."

Draco stood up. "Like Harry said, _he__'__ll_ think about it. I'm going to explore the castle before dinner. Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry slid the charms book back across the table. "See you, Hermione."

"Bye, you two. Thank you for stopping by!"

Draco's idea of exploring the castle turned out to actually be trying to find and climb to the highest point in the building. They managed to make it to the top of what a passing ghost informed Harry was the West Tower before having to turn back for dinner in the Great Hall.

"Saturday we should be free, we'll find one even higher then," Draco told Harry. "And next time we have to bring Greg, he's got this ridiculous fear of heights that he'll have to get over if he wants to be beater on the quidditch team."

Harry knew Draco well enough to ask, "Does Greg even _want_ to be a beater?"

"I want him to be a beater, that's good enough for me," Draco sniffed. "I plan on being seeker, and I don't trust anyone other than him and Vince to look out for me."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't try that, you're obviously not beater material. Do you even want to join the team?"

Harry _had_ thought about trying out, but his favorite position was seeker and that was certainly the same position that Draco would be going for. "Does it matter? The point's moot until next year anyway."

Draco eyed Harry.. "I suppose." His gaze darted to Harry's left. "Good evening, professor."

Harry echoed the sentiment as he turned to see Snape looking down at them over his hooked nose.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Pevensie," said Snape in return. "Curfew is at nine o'clock sharp, are you aware of this?"

Harry hadn't known that at all, but chorused, "Yes, sir," with Draco all the same.

"Good. I will meet both of you in the smaller addressing room - the one I spoke to all of you in last night - at nine o'clock sharp. If you are not there at that time, I will assume you are not in the Slytherin rooms at all and are breaking curfew, which you will be punished for. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape gave them a satisfied nod. "Enjoy your meal." With a sharp turn and a flare of his robe, Snape turned from them and entered the Great Hall.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "It's probably about what happened at the flying lessons," Draco said. "I didn't do anything wrong, _you_ did something _right_, why does he want to see me too?"

"Dunno, but you're not leaving me to face him alone."

Draco scowled. "I wouldn't!" He jutted his chin into the air and walked briskly into the Great Hall.

Harry jogged for a moment to catch up with Draco, then met his pace. "Because of our friendship, or because Professor Snape would take points and Farley would murder you?"

A tiny smile cracked Draco's proud expression. "The second, obviously."

* * *

><p>Peter didn't know whether it was luck, Aslan's guiding paw, or a blessing from Athena, but it took him less than a day to find information on horcruxes.<p>

The book catalog was magical and finicky, prone to flipping to another card the instant Peter put his fingers on the one he wanted, but it was helpful nonetheless. A children's book that Peter had thought would be useless turned out to have folklore about a wizard with a horcrux and several books listed on cards Peter had to snatch from the jaws of the catalog ended up being no help at all. After that, Peter just gave the catalog 'horcrux' as a search term and collected whatever books it recommended.

A horcrux was a split soul, which Peter already knew from his previous research and inquiries into Voldemort and the story of what happened to Harry the night his parents died. There were tales of wizards and witches who created horcruxes successfully, but they were all either destroyed or had faded into obscurity. One paper on the theory of the matter gave statistics to show that no one with a horcrux ever lived longer than a natural lifespan - circumstances would rise up to destroy both parts of the soul with a century of its splitting.

Peter also read on theories of the idea of creating more than one horcrux. Creating one by itself seemed like madness - what fool would literally tear his own soul apart? - but creating more than one only seemed to Peter to be folly. The first horcrux would naturally be an even split of the soul, so that there would be two halves. A second horcrux would split one of those halves into two, so that the wizard creating them would have two horcruxes, one with half a soul and one with a quarter, and only a quarter of his own soul would remain within him. The next would reduce the amount within the wizard to an eighth of its original size and so on. Half a soul seemed terrible; how could someone with less than that even function and pretend to be a human being?

Then again, Voldemort never acted like a human being. There were reports that the man had had red eyes and a snake-like face, with skin so pale it might have been bleached. Peter had assumed it had been the result of some glamour to frighten others, but perhaps he'd actually lost most of that thing which made him human? And he certainly seemed mad and cruel enough, by the end, to make Peter believe that Voldemort had been acting with only a tiny fraction of his soul.

He could've been wrong. The signs pointed to Voldemort having created a horcrux, but perhaps he hadn't. And even if he did, there was no real reason to think that he would have created more than one.

But it seemed right to Peter, and if there was anything he had learned while in Narnia, it was to have faith. Peter needed to have faith in himself and his actions, and faith that Aslan would let him know if he was going down the wrong path to properly protect his nephew.

Now thoroughly grounded on the subject of horcruxes, Peter began to write up his findings to send to Susan. He would stay for the next week and continue searching for any more helpful information, and after that, it would be up to her to figure out how to find the pieces of split soul. Another week before Peter could continue in his travels around Earth, waiting for Susan to redeem herself so that she could end her duty of helping lost souls and leave Wayside House.

He would wait until the time that he and all three of his siblings could return to Narnia.


End file.
